


Grace the Gun

by amarillogrande



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Anal Sex, Angel Charlie Bradbury, Angel Dean Winchester, Angel Sam Winchester, Angry Sex, Angst, Apocalypse, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Episode: s08e17 Goodbye Stranger - Reverse Crypt Scene, First Kiss, Fluff, Guardian Angels, Hell, Hell Flashbacks, Hunter Anna, Hunter Castiel, Hunter Gabriel, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Switching, Temporary Character Death, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Villain Character Death, reverse verse, reverse!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 169,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3992302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarillogrande/pseuds/amarillogrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s got a shotgun in his hand and his mother’s broken rosary around his neck. His eye is cut open and dripping, and he’s got forty years of Hell fresh in his mind. </p>
<p>Do not. Fuck with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>x</p>
<p>It's been four months since he died, when Castiel wakes up, six feet below the ground, alive. Alive without an explanation, with a mysterious itch under his skin and rumors of a whisper, a whisper of something so powerful, that demons themselves are running scared.<br/>Then he meets the thing that pulled him out—a spitfire angel named Dean, who turns out to be nothing to run from.</p>
<p>With his sister Anna at his side, Gabriel at his back, and three angels in their corner, they're gonna take the fight to them. And they're gonna show God just exactly how they feel about his plan for fate and destiny.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>A Reverse Verse reimagining where Dean's got the grace and Castiel's got the gun</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first attempt at a really long, plotty fic. Tags will be added as I go to avoid any potential spoilers.  
> I'll include any warnings I think the chapter will need, and don't hesitate to contact me if you think there should be more. 
> 
> Message me on tumblr: chevrolangels
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> Descriptions of Hell, alcohol as a coping mechanism

 

 

 

 

He wakes up.

 

 

 

 

His breath surges back into his body, his back arching with the force of it. He chokes, lungs burning.

He struggles for air, hands scrabbling against the surface beneath him. A harsh coldness stings his nostrils, mixed with a dampness that smells of earth, and the wetness of soil.

 

His opens his eyes.

 

 

He can’t see.

Oh, god, he can’t see.

He panics, lashing out in the dark.

 

 

His hands abruptly hit something solid, and he stills, breathing heavily.

 

 

He spreads shaking fingers, tracing the cracked surface above him. Wood?

 

 

 

He inhales sharply, snatching his hands back.

 

 

 

A coffin.

He's in his coffin.

Alive.

 

 

_How—_

He's alive.

 

 

He gasps for breath, feeling the familiar tug of panic blossom in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest in the damp air.

 

Gradually, gradually, his heart slows, and he’s left shivering.

 

He swallows, his throat dry and scratchy.

 

 

Who was he?

 

 _Castiel_ , his mind whispers.

“Castiel,” he croaks, his voice breaking on the word.

He's someone named Castiel.

 

 

 

He opens his eyes again, but there’s still nothing but black.

He slowly reaches out, exploring his prison. One palm presses against the wood above him, the other wandering, over the side and down to his leg—pausing when he brushes over a hard lump.

A small rectangle, pressed against the outline of his pocket.

Castiel slowly pulls the lighter out, fingers shaking. He doesn't need to see to recognize the familiar pattern, tracing a thumb over the worn grooves, the name etched in the silver.

He sees another image, a vision…or was it just a dream?—Of hands patching up a dead man’s wounds, changing his blood-soaked clothes, then tenderly tucking the lighter into his pocket—maybe because it didn’t feel right to bury him without it, or maybe because they childishly wanted him to have some light in the darkness.

 

He flips the catch and the lighter flares to life—a sharp shock after the choking blackness. The sudden brightness burns his eyes and he almost drops it, flame licking against his skin.

The heat burns, and he remembers pain.

Agonizing, burning pain.

 

He gasps, clutching at his chest. But it’s still whole. No wounds. No blood. Nothing.

It’s as if it never happened.

 

He closes his eyes, waiting until his breath evens out and the panic recedes. Then he looks up at the hazy tan grain of wood around him, flickering in the light of the small flame.

 

 

 

He has to get out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He breathes again, but now the air feels stale and hot, suffocating in the cramped space. He tries not to think _coffin_ as he looks again at the wood, checking for flaws. There’s a slight dip above his left shoulder, and he throws a fist against it. It groans under the pressure, cracking slightly.

He stares at it for a moment, heartbeat pounding dully in his ears. Then he makes his decision.

He quickly flips the lighter closed, shoving it back into his pocket. He grabs his shirt and clumsily pulls it over his head, creating a barrier between him and the dirt above.

He exhales, once.

Then he kicks.

 

 

 

Earth crashes around him, roaring in his ears. He curls into a ball, shielding his face from the soil, but it presses down on him, hard, wet, suffocating—

He chokes, lashing out. He scratches and claws at the dirt around him, struggling and pulling. He can only think up _, up._

And then—

 

 

There’s air filling his lungs. Sweet air, forcing its way down his throat—and he manages to pull himself out of the hole, finally tipping over and spilling out onto solid ground. He coughs violently, spitting out dirt, his body ridding itself of the horrors of underground.

He lays there, gulping down the cold night air, his cheek pressed against the damp grass.

 

 

After a moment, he lifts his head.

 

 

 

 

The first thing he sees is a stone angel, its arms spread open in welcome.

 

_He that endureth to the end shall be saved._

 

He stares at it, panting.

The inscription is familiar, so familiar. How does he know it?

_They’re watching over you_

 

 

One of the verses—one of the passages read to him in the middle of night, when he couldn’t sleep, when his father was gone, hunting some evil thing, another monster in the dark.

 

_Angels_

 

Her soft smile would comfort him, her gentle words would wash away the fear as he slowly sank back into dreams.

And he had seen those words, over and over. In the cemetery.

 

The cemetery.

 

 

Using the statue as support, he stands, bracing for a fall that doesn’t come. The night is pleasant and warm around him, but his body feels cold. He wraps his arms around himself, shaking.

His name, what is his name again?

_Anna,_ his mind dregs up.

Or is it—

_Castiel_

No. No. That's him. He's Castiel.

Castiel. Brother, hunter, recently died, recently resurrected.

 

Saved.

 

 

 

Someone—or something—had brought him back.

Back from Hell.

 

 

He takes a shuddering breath, looking back at the dark pit of earth he just dragged himself out of.

There’s no marker, no stone, nothing. Just upturned soil and splinters of wood poking through the wet dirt, the only indication that there was ever a body beneath that ground.

And behind it, the tree.

The tree they used to climb when they were children, laughing and playing, picking the cherries from their stems until their fingers were stained red.

She buried him underneath their favorite tree.

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel unsteadily lurches up, needing to get away from the grave—he tries not to think _his_ grave—

His mind stabs with pain, and he hunches over, shaking.

 

He inhales sharply, clutching at the grass beneath his fingers. The touch grounds him, stopping the rush inside his head as memories sift back in, as if he's slowly dragging himself to the surface again.

The world stops reeling, and he opens his eyes.

 

 

He is Castiel. And he's home.

 

 

 

 

He spies his shirt, where it's lying discarded on the grass, and he slowly picks it up, shaking away the last traces of dirt. He pulls it on, relishing in the rough brush of cotton over unbroken skin.

Then he starts to walk. He's not really sure where he's going, but the faint glow of the moon above him lights the way, silver stars scattered around it, urging him forward. Castiel stares upward, his throat choked.

 

The stars.

Oh. He had missed stars.

 

 

 

 

He barely senses the walk to the church doors, but suddenly he’s standing before them, iron handles gleaming dully in the moonlight. He wraps bloodied knuckles around the familiar metal, when a wave of nausea hits him, and he almost doubles over again.

 

Anna.

 

 

What will she say? She won’t believe him, that's for certain. That he has no idea what happened, that he had dug his way out of his grave no more than five minutes before.

She'll most likely shoot him. And Castiel isn’t eager to return to Hell anytime soon.

 

 

He straightens, tugging at the heavy door. With his weakened strength, it’s a struggle—but finally he gets it open, just wide enough to slip inside—and the door slams shut behind him, echoing with a grim sort of finality. Castiel falls back against the door, his lungs burning.

It’s just as he remembers it. Hymnals stuffed haphazardly on their shelves, weathered and well-used, the rickety pews in front of the altar—all under a thick coating of dust.

And watching over it all, the golden cross, hanging there silently, slightly off-center.

 

 

 

Castiel slowly pushes himself up, passing the silent statues that cluster around the altar like weeds. He heads down the dark hallway, his steps making no noise on the stone floor. He rounds the corner and abruptly stops, just staring.

There’s a thin strip of yellow shining from a door at the end, the light casting soft shadows on the floor.

 

Her door is open.

 

 

 

 

Castiel curls one hand into a fist, exhaling slowly.

Then he steps forward, and into the light.

 

 

 

She’s facing away from him, reading, her face tired and worn.

 

“Anna,” he croaks out.

His throat is dusty.

 

 

 

 

She lifts her head, squinting in the direction of the noise. She freezes when she sees him—weary, covered in dirt, _alive._

“Hey,” Castiel says weakly. He raises a hand.

 

 

She snarls and knocks her chair back, drawing her knife.

 

“Wait—”

Anna lunges, slashing at him. He barely dodges in time, trying to scramble away from her.

“Anna—“ He gasps. “It’s me—“

“Like hell it is—“

She quickly corners him and throws him to the floor, jamming the knife to his neck.

“Wait— _wait—_ “

He coughs at the pressure on his throat, trying to inch away from the blade.

“Your—your name is Anna Grace Milton—“ Castiel stutters out. “You were born in 1987, you came to live with us when you were five—“

He swallows, the silver scraping against his flesh.

“Our dad was a hunter, and you’re my sister—“

He grabs her wrist.

 

“You’re my sister," Castiel breathes.

 

Anna's eyes widen slightly—but in a flash, it’s gone, quickly replaced by fury. She snarls, tightening the grip on his neck.

“You son of a bitch,” she hisses. 

“I am not a shapeshifter, Anna—“

“Then what are you?” She snaps.

Castiel raises his hands, pleading.

“Look—if I was anything—“

He takes deep breaths, darting a glance down at the knife.

“That silver would be giving me a hell of a rash right now.”

 

She doesn’t move.

But the blade eases up slightly, and Castiel can breathe again.

 

Anna stares at him for a moment, eyes searching his face. Then she jerks up, backing off him.

 

She doesn’t lower her knife, but Castiel can read the confusion in her face, fear mixed with a sort of pained hope.

“Cas?” She whispers.

He sits up cautiously.

“It’s me.”

The knife drops to the floor. She’s shaking.

“It’s really me,” Castiel says softly.

 

She’s frozen for a moment. But then she’s running forward, throwing her arms around his neck. Castiel collapses, hugging her back. _God,_ he had missed her—

“This isn’t real,” Anna mumbles. “It’s not you, it’s not you—“

Castiel tightens his arms, shaking his head.

“It is,” he breathes. “I don’t know how, but it is.”

She abruptly pulls back, looking him up and down.

“Jesus, Cas,” she breathes.

He gives a feeble laugh.

“Not quite.”

 

She ignores his attempt to joke and grasps his hand.

“How did you—“

She helps him to his feet, shaking her head.

“How are you…alive?”

Castiel shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, grateful for the support. “I just woke up. In the—“

His throat tightens.

“In the graveyard,” he finishes quietly.

 

Anna pales, blanching as she sees the dirt on his clothes, his skin, his bloody hands.

“ _Cas_ , shit—“

Her hands knock through the clutter on her desk, scraping for something.

“Come here—“

Castiel only manages to take a couple of steps before he gets a shot of holy water to the face.

 

He wipes his face, blinking drops out of his eyes.

“Not a demon, either,” he says dryly.

 

Anna grimaces, looking down at the flask in her hands.

“Sorry,” she blurts. “Had to make sure.”

 Castiel just waves a hand, sinking into the chair by the desk. Anna grabs the med kit, for real this time, and she sits down across from him, reaching for his hands.

 

The harsh sting of antiseptic hits his nostrils, clearing his head slightly—but Castiel still feels slightly fuzzy. Nothing new—he had woken up with a headache and the sour aftertaste of whiskey in his mouth too many times for that—but this is different.

This goes darker. Deeper.

 

 

So he starts off carefully, the words coming easier with every breath. Anna is completely silent, cleaning the scrapes left by the wood of his coffin as she listens to him speak.

 

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” she whispers after a brief silence, now taping up his fingers.

“I know.”

She hasn’t looked at him since she started treating his hands. She _had_ seemed surprised…

“Cas, you were—when we buried you—“

She stops, clearing her throat. Castiel looks away.

 

He knows.

Even if a demon had managed to get to him—his body had been ruined, completely beyond repair.

“It’s been four months,” she says quietly.

 

Castiel clenches his fists. Anna draws back slightly, watching him.

 

He takes a deep breath, trying to relax.

“Four months?” He asks quietly.

 

Anna nods.

“You shouldn’t be looking this good, Cas,” she says weakly, trying to smile.

Castiel swallows, pulling back his newly-bandaged hands. He leans back in his chair, his voice hollow.

“I know. It doesn’t make sense,” he echoes.

 

They both fall silent, mutely staring at the table in front of them. When Anna speaks again, her voice is cautious.

“What do you…what do you remember?”

 

Castiel glances up sharply.

“Remember?”

 

_Pain_

“I don’t—not a lot.”

 

_Endless pain, white eyes and blood_

He rubs his temple, trying to block out the memory.

“The building was coming down,” he says hoarsely. “And I just ran, and I—“

 

_Chains and iron and a flash of gold—_

He cuts off, his voice lost.

 

 

He looks up.

Anna is staring at him.

 

 

“Then, um…darkness,” he lies. “Woke up in a pine box.”

 

Anna is quiet for a moment. But then she sighs harshly, shaking her head.

“Jesus.”

 

Castiel digs up a smile from somewhere, plastering it on his face.

“Again, not him. Didn’t manage it in three days.”

Anna gives him that glare, but he can see the smile behind it, fighting to break through.

 

Castiel desperately wants to see her smile again. Only memories of her had kept him going down below.

 

She opens her mouth, but then seems to think better of it. Instead, she stands, grabbing the bottle on her nightstand, coming back with two glasses. She wordlessly pours them both a shot, nudging a glass towards Castiel. He wraps his hand around the glass, but he can’t drink it just yet. He watches as she takes a generous gulp, squinting a little at the taste.

“Anna,” he says quietly.

She wipes her mouth, not looking at him.

“You didn’t—“

He clenches his jaw, resolving himself.

“You didn’t make a deal…did you?”

 

Anna looks up sharply, her expression guilty.

Castiel’s heart seizes. He knew it, _he knew it_ —

 

 

“I tried,” she whispers.

 

Castiel blinks.

_What?_

“Must’ve summoned over a dozen demons,” she mutters. “But none of them would have it.”

Anna throws down her glass, laughing bitterly.

“Said they had had enough trouble from the Remingtons already. So after a while I stopped trying.”

 

Anna rubs a hand over her face, avoiding his eyes.

“Shit, Cas.” She chokes out a laugh. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel frowns.

“What—why?”

Her expression shifts, suddenly angry.

“I—It wasn’t me! I gave up on you!”

 

She shoves back from the table.

“I couldn’t fucking save you,” she says, angrily pacing back and forth. “After everything you did, and it was _my_ goddamn fault in the first place—“

Castiel stands, catching her arm.

“Anna—“

“And I couldn’t do anything, I—“

“Hey, hey—it’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

She refuses to look at him, her fists clenched.

 

“Water under the bridge, Anna,” he says softly. “You know that right?”

 

She slowly looks up.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” she whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he says again. “I’m here now.”

 

Anna stares at him for a moment, but then she nods, dropping her gaze.

She curls her arms around herself, clearing her throat.

“Missed you.”

 

Castiel looks up.

“Yeah?”

She snorts, wiping her eyes.

“’Course I did, dumbass.”

Castiel lets out a laugh, a genuine laugh for the first time, and tugs her under his arm, pressing a kiss into her hair.

“Me too, Red. I missed you, too.”

She gives him a look, scowling.

“I can’t believe you still use that stupid nickname.”

“I can’t believe you still pretend you hate it,” he teases back.

She elbows him, and Castiel obliges, letting go.

“Knew the honeymoon wouldn’t last.”

 

Anna just rolls her eyes, grabbing the med kit and stuffing it back on the shelf. She pauses suddenly, turning to him.

“Shit—are you starving? I mean—you haven’t eaten in four fucking months—“

She slams her hand on the table.

“What do you want? Huh?” She laughs shakily. “Take out, your favorite, I mean—you just came back from the dead…let’s fucking _celebrate_.”

 

Castiel laughs too, but he stands, rubbing his arm.

“I think what I want most right now is a shower.”

“Crap, of course—“

 

 

Castiel lets her fuss over him, lets her shoo him towards the bathroom and start digging out towels and clothes for him, mumbling something about ordering Chinese.

“Your room and all your stuff is just like you left it,” she says hastily, dropping the small mountain of clothes on the floor. “Because, I mean, I didn’t—well, I couldn’t bring myself to—“

“Anna.”

Castiel stops her.

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

 

She quiets, nodding sheepishly. She lingers at the door, then turns, drowning him in a hug again. Castiel huffs and squeezes back, ruffling her hair as they part.

She scowls, knocking his hand away.

“Food’ll be here soon.”

She starts off down the hall, calling over her shoulder.

“And I’m getting Chow Mein anyway, so deal with it!”

 

 

Castiel laughs a little, closing the door to the bathroom. He turns and sinks his back against the wood, shaking his head.

Anna.

Pain in the ass, stubbornly loyal…but just as strong, Castiel thinks, rubbing his throat. He’s probably have some nice bruises by tomorrow.

He closes his eyes, just breathing. He had been worried that his death might have ruined her somehow, that his brief stint down below might have altered his sister in ways Castiel couldn’t even begin to name or understand.

Though the same can’t be said for him.

 

Castiel shoves that thought away, and he’s suddenly conscious of the dirt in his hair, on his skin. He turns on the shower and waits impatiently for the water to warm, eager to wash away the filth and the grime—the last reminder that just a few short hours ago, he had been dead.

The gentle hum of the water swirls around him, filling the air with steam. He curls his fingers around the edge of his shirt and pulls it over his head, letting it drop to the floor. He quickly shucks the rest of his clothes, and he’s about to step under the stream of water, when he pauses.

Castiel turns slowly, looking into the mirror set above the sink.

 

 

Angry, inflamed red skin—burning brightly on his chest, not quite healed. Castiel swallows, leaning closer. He lifts a shaking hand, pressing an experimental touch to the mark.

 

His mind stabs with pain, a howling roar of rage beneath them, then a golden flash—

 

 

Castiel sucks in harsh breaths, the mirror before him slowly fading into view.

He had almost fallen to his knees, grabbing the sink for support. He clings to the edge of the porcelain, struggling for breath.

 

_What the hell was that?_

 

He stands slowly, looking at the angry red mark. He gingerly touches the edges of the seared flesh, a tingle running through him. It _looks_ like a burn, but it can’t be. Because this is no accidental burn.

It’s a perfect handprint, set right over his heart.

 

Castiel swallows. He knows instinctively, this is the work of whoever—whatever—pulled him from the pit. Something that was very much human. Or at least looked like one.

 

He curls his hand into a fist, his arm dropping to his side. His eyes roam over the rest of his body in the mirror, and he frowns. He twists experimentally, but he can’t see anything. He had amassed too many scars over the years—cuts, burns, the scrapes from various bites and blades—but they’re all gone.

He’s completely whole, skin untouched. The only mark is the mysterious handprint.

 

 

It’s a long time before he tears his eyes away from the mirror.

 

 

x

 

 

After dinner, Castiel retreats to his room, quietly shutting the door. Anna had seemed to understand his silence, filling the empty air between them with meaningless stories, anecdotes from the past four months and minor news on how the world had changed while he was gone.

Neither of them said ‘dead.’

 

Castiel wordlessly helped her clean up the dishes, then escaped as soon as possible. His face had been starting to hurt from smiling too much.

 

Don’t get him wrong—he’s freakin’ thrilled to be back—anything is better than where he had just been—but something…just doesn’t feel right.

All of him feels prickly. Stinging, like he’s been scrubbed raw. He had been pulled down into the pits of the earth, and then suddenly, mercilessly spat back out. It’s a miracle he hasn’t broken down already.

Castiel sits heavily on the edge of the bed, pressing his hands to his face.

The lights of his room are too bright. Artificial. They’re nothing like dancing hellfire, or the sickly white glow of the demon’s eyes.

 

 _You’re safe now, Castiel_ , he whispers to himself. _It’s okay._

 

 

He flinches when Anna touches his shoulder.

She immediately draws back, her eyes wide.

“Hey, I knocked, but—“

Castiel plasters a smile on his face.

“Sorry. Didn’t hear it.”

 

She smiles back, equally false.

“Well, it’s just—“

She’s twisting her fingers, grimacing a little.

“I called and told Gabriel,” she says quickly. “But you know, of course—“

“He didn’t believe you,” Castiel finishes dully.

She nods, biting her lip.

“And he wants us to come over.”

More nods.

Castiel sighs, hand absentmindedly running over his shirt. Anna fidgets.

“But I mean, it’s okay—it’s only if you’re feeling up to it—“

“Why wouldn’t I be up for it?”

 

He grabs a jacket from the floor and reaches out to grab his keys from their usual spot on the wall.

Castiel abruptly stops. They’re not there.

 

“I…um.”

 

He turns. Anna’s holding out his keys.

“Thought it was my car,” she says, shrugging.

Castiel doesn’t say anything. He slowly takes them, then heads towards the garage without another word.

 

 

x

 

 

 

It goes just about as well with his reunion with Anna.

 

Gabriel attacks him the minute he walks through the door, sending Castiel sprawling. He douses him in salt and holy water before Anna is able to wrestle him off, and Castiel slowly sits up, wiping his face.

“Thanks for the welcome wagon,” he mutters. Gabriel is staring at him, his eyes narrowed.

“Silver,” he orders. Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Gabe, really—“

“I told you, I already did all this,” Anna says, still standing in between them, like Gabe might charge any second.

“Silver, you son of a bitch,” Gabriel hisses again.

Castiel raises his hands.

“Alright. Alright.”

 

He pulls the knife, grimacing. He gives himself a clean cut on the forearm, slowly letting out his breath. He looks up, holding out for Gabriel to see.

“Happy?”

Anna pulls a handkerchief from her pocket, handing it to Castiel and taking Raphael’s knife from him. Gabriel is completely frozen.

“It’s really you,” he breathes.

Castiel holds the cloth to his arm, trying to smile.

“It really is,” he says softly.

 

Gabriel is still for a moment. Then he’s moving forward, and he yanks Castiel up, crushing him into a tight hug.

 

Castiel grips him back, fighting the choked feeling in his throat. He shakes his head, laughing shakily.

“Yeah. I missed you too.”

“Shut up,” Gabe says, finally releasing him.

 

 

The lie is easier this time. Castiel recounts his story of waking up in the grave, and Gabriel doesn’t interrupt, his hands clasped and his brow furrowed.

“Demon?” He asks, glancing at Anna. She shrugs.

“Not sure,” Castiel says. “But it wasn’t a deal, as far as we know.”

Anna scuffs her boot again the cheap linoleum of Gabe’s kitchen, not looking up.

Gabriel nods thoughtfully, his eyes unfocused.

“I mean, I can dig through the lore, but anything that can pull a soul from Hell, just like that—“

He lets out a slow breath.

“It’ll be nothing we’ve ever seen before.”

 

The three of them fall silent. Castiel turns over everything in his mind, his thoughts whirling.

“If a deal didn’t do it, then what did?” he muses quietly.

“Does it matter?”

 

He looks up sharply. Anna is rigid against the counter, her fists clenched. Gabriel looks at her sideways.

“We got to find out what it is,” he says slowly.

Anna pushes herself up, turning on him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Gabriel takes a small step back, utterly cowed.

“Anna—”

“No,” she snaps. “Why can’t we just accept this? Take it like the gift it is?”

She whirls, now going after Castiel.

 

“This could have been a demon, a monster, a spirit—and if we go poking around, all guns blazing, who’s to say it won’t snatch you back?” she growls. “Take your life as quickly as it started it again?”

“Alright, then tell me—”

Castiel pulls aside his jacket, ripping open the first few buttons of his shirt and yanking it aside.

“What demon could have done this?”

Anna and Gabriel freeze. They both stare at the angry red mark on his chest, speechless.

 

“Cas,” Gabe breathes. “What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know.”

 

Castiel drops his hand, glaring.

“But I’m the only clue we got.”

Anna is shaking her head, but Castiel ignores her.

“So we figure it out while we still can,” he says quickly. “Because if it comes looking for me—“

“Then we’ll deal with it then,” Anna says sharply. “We’ve had enough trouble.”

 

Castiel grits his teeth.

“Anna…”

“ _No_ , Cas.”

 

She meets his eyes, her anger softening.

“I’m just glad you’re back,” she says quietly. “Aren’t you?”

He wilts.

“I—of course—“

“Then promise me you won’t go looking for it.”

 

 

Castiel opens his mouth, brow furrowed.

“Anna.”

“Promise, Cas,” she orders, eyes hard.

 

 

 

Castiel fights with himself, his face struggling to remain neutral.

 

“Fine,” he says eventually.

“Good.”

 

 

 

She crosses her arms and turns away from him, ignoring the strained silence in the room.

“Now. Who wants a drink?”

 

 

 

 

Castiel slowly buttons his shirt, watching as Anna starts to pull down glasses, bickering with Gabriel, acting like the argument never even happened. He catches Gabriel's eye when her back is turned, and Gabriel shakes his head slightly, as if to say—

_Later. We’ll talk about it later._

x

They end up out on the porch, talking and joking about nothing, Gabriel and Anna recounting stories of hunts, keeping the air alive with light and laughter. Castiel leans back in his seat, holding his bottle loosely in his fingers—and to his surprise, he finds some of his laughter is actually genuine. Because he’s finally back with the two people he loves most—and he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

 

 

“There was that one rugarou, nearly took me out—“

“Oh, god, that was _horrible_ —“

“Cas—you should’ve seen it. Sent the thing through a nine-story window and it _still_ came after me. Teeth and claws and all.”

“’Cause your dumb ass thought it would be a good idea to just leave it there.”

“Shut up, Annie, I’m talking—“

“No, you're crap at this, let  _me_ tell it—“

 

Castiel listens, laughing and smiling as fireflies lazily loop around them, buzzing in the late summer air.

But his mind is far from quiet. The question still lingers.

 

He’s got to know.

 

He just has to.

 

 

x

 

He’s back.

He’s back in the pit. Castiel can’t see it, but he can feel it, he _knows_ —somehow he died again, and had been dragged down into the flames, back on the rack.

There’s a milky film clouding his eyes, and he can’t see much. It’s all black and red, smoke and blood. He convulses as the whip hits him, as his skin tears, hearing the cruel laughter of the demon piercing his ears and shattering him apart.

There’s a sharp pain in his side, where the metal bites into his skin, the hooks and wires that torment him every second. He coughs up blood, a salty burn on his tongue as he retches, wrenching forward, pulling at the metal prison around him, his blinded eyes darting back and forth, unseeing.

But even as he chokes back the horror in his mouth, he knows there’s something darker—that the blood on his hands isn’t his own—that the whip is his now.

There’s a soul in front of him, twisting and shrieking in pain as he lays into it, again and again and again—

His heart twitches as the blood spatters across his cheek, his lungs leap and his throat burns. He’s _enjoying_ it, reveling in the rage and hate as he takes his vengeance upon those brought before him. There’s iron and metal, heat and grime, nails that he twists deeper into their skin—punctures, pierces, burns.

But even as he dies, as he’s ripped apart and put back together, every time more painful than the last—a warmth suddenly burns through him.

 _A streak of gold, a searing flash over his heart_ —

 

Castiel wakes with a start. He jerks up, gulping down the cold air of his room.

Then he realizes where he is, and he sinks, falling back into his pillows, pressing a hand to his forehead.

 

He’s alive. In his bed. Safe.

 

But the terror still lingers, the echoes of it shrieking and screaming in his mind, burning—

He cringes, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

It physically pained him to think of it, of the scorching heat and the blind terror of the souls around him. He had pretended he didn’t remember for their sake, pretended that it hadn’t affected him, but…

Castiel hunches over, hugging his knees.

The truth is he’s barely keeping it together.

But even as he huddles into himself, a strange warmth fills him. That light—the light that had saved him, torn him out of that hole—

He presses his palms to his eyes, trying to call back the vision.

What was it? It had been so beautiful, so pure, Castiel knew that, he just _knew_ somehow…

But it was fading, slipping away again.

The vision melts away and he’s left with a strange emptiness, staring at his starch-white sheets.

 

He throws them back and wrenches himself out of bed, flipping on the light. It burns his eyes, and he sinks back against the wall, breathing hard.

His eyes finally adjust, and he finds himself glaring at the bottle sitting on his bedside table. He grabs it and quickly tips the golden liquid back, hissing as the burn hits his throat. It finally stops the whirl in his head, washing away those bloody memories.

 

Castiel drinks enough that he starts to feel too hot in his skin, too crowded in his empty room. He stumbles out the door and tears silently down the hallway, finally bursting out into the early morning air.

The silent gravestones greet him, and instantly, all the tension melts out of his shoulders, his sigh turning into a silver stream that drifts away into the dawn.

He really should feel morbid, he thinks, as he clambers onto one of the closer stone seats. This should bother him. But Castiel had grown up surrounded by death. And maybe, for that reason, he had never been scared of it—not in the way most of the parishioners that came seeking his father’s guidance were—but mostly because he had believed there was nothing that came after. That after his heart had shuddered out its last few desperate beats, Castiel would sink into blackness.

And then there would be nothing. No more pain. No more fear.

 

But he was wrong.

 

He sticks his hands in his pockets, breath coming out in hot icy puffs that turn white and melt away into the sky. He glances up.

The clouds above him roll ominously. It's all grey and damp, covering the grassy expanse of the cemetery with a mist that doesn’t feel dry, but can’t quite materialize itself into rain. Castiel sighs, willing to just wash away.

There’s the distant cry of a crow. The chiming of the bell tower from the center of the town. Distant. Soft.

He counts.

Six.

 

Castiel curls into himself, pulling up the hood on his sweatshirt. He tugs on the strings, tucking his legs up underneath him.

He absentmindedly toys with the cord around his neck, staring unseeingly at the graves before him. Anna had given it back to him, pulled it off her own head when she had finally accepted that he wasn’t dead anymore.

He tugs at it for a while, but then leans forward, rubbing his face.

This is ridiculous. He's a grown-ass man, sulking like a pouty teenager on a bench in a graveyard.

But to tell the truth…this is the only time Castiel feels safe. When he's alone. Every word he speaks, to Anna, to Gabriel—he has to constantly monitor himself, to make sure he doesn’t slip up, that they won’t catch him in a lie. It's exhausting.

 

It’s been a week, and he still doesn’t feel like himself. He just feels… _wrong_ somehow, like something in him is shifted, slightly off-center. Maybe it's the way his spine grinds together, how there now always seems to be a prickling at the back of his neck—an itch he can’t scratch. Some dark part locked up inside his head that had been cracked open and set loose.

Castiel can’t help but feel that he had left something behind in that earth.

 

 

He inhales a couple times, calming his breathing.

He had made them take care of it, tamp the earth back down and bury the shards of wood that had made up his hellish prison. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to feel.

 

It starts to rain, but Castiel doesn’t move. He sits there, motionless, until he’s soaked to the bone, shivering, his skin covered in goosebumps.

He curses under his breath as the outside light flicks on. Anna will probably yell at him, she'll scold and tell him to take better care of himself—

He stands, shaking out his frozen limbs before he darts back inside, pulling the great heavy door closed behind him. He sinks against the wood, sucking down the warm dusty air of the church.

He slowly opens his eyes, fixing his eyes on the golden cross above the altar.

It stares back, unseeing.

Castiel sighs.

 

A man who doesn’t believe in God, calling a church home.

The world is a strange place.

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel hops out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Anna comes around from the other side, a strange sort of bounce in her step. She’s beaming, unusually bubbly.

“What’re you grinning about?” He asks, double-checking the expiration date on his badge. “You usually hate this part.”

“’Cause you get the cool suit and I get the pantsuit from Hell, yeah. But—I don’t know.”

She smiles at him as they walk towards the police tape.

“It feels good to work together again. It feels normal.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“Triple homicide seem normal to you?”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

 

They flash their badges and get let under the tape, and Anna tucks hers into her pocket, smirking.

“Besides, for us? This is just another Tuesday.”

“Nerd.”

“Ass.”

“FBI?”

 

They quickly sober, and Castiel is surprised at how easy it is, to slide back into the routine. They talk with the sheriff for a while before she lets them into the room, and it takes Anna all of about 30 seconds to find the culprit. Or what the bastards left behind.

“Sulfur,” she says, crumbling the yellow powder between her fingers. “Dammit. Thought we had something interesting for once.”

She wipes her hands and stands, but Castiel’s pulse is quickening. A demon. Maybe more. And once they track them down, they could be questioned. Castiel could find out if it knows anything, if only he could get away from Anna, how would he—?

 

“Cas?”

 

He blinks, looking up. Anna is squinting at him.

“They got the witness at the station. Said we could interview them now.”

Castiel nods.

“Right.”

He tucks aside that thought for later.

“Let’s do it.”

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel supposes there are worst places to have a faceoff with a couple punk-ass demons.

 

He jerks it up, pressing his knife to its throat. The demon sneers.

“That won’t kill me.”

“I know.”

Castiel pulls him to the center of the devil's trap, hissing in its ear.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t do a little damage first.”

The demon musters up its last bit of defiance, weakly struggling against his hold.

“They told me about you,” it hisses lowly. “Hell’s very own VIP. I should have known.”

Castiel tightens his grip, and the demon chokes, eyeing the knife.

“Known what?” He growls.

 

The demon doesn’t answer. Its eyes dart everywhere, looking for an escape. Castiel snarls.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he snarls.

“You won’t,” the demon scoffs. But Castiel can see the fear in its eyes.

He pulls on the hatred simmering beneath his skin, dropping his voice down low.

“Do you really want to test me?”

 

 

The demon swallows.

“It might have got you out of Hell, but they can never fix it,” it whispers. “You’ll never be able to fix it.”

Castiel tries to keep the shock from flickering across his face.

“You know then,” he snarls instead, shaking to keep his voice even. “You know.”

 

The demon whimpers, not even daring to struggle.

“What pulled me out?” Castiel whispers. “What is it?”

The demon’s eyes flicker back to brown, full of fear.

“It’s the end,” it whispers.

 

 

 

 

“Cas—Cas!”

 

Anna’s voice, echoing in the hallway. Castiel stiffens. He looks back at the demon, but it’s frozen underneath him. He tightens his jaw, quickly making a decision.

Castiel releases it, backing away quickly. The demon hunches into a crouch, watching him.

Anna's footsteps sound around the corner, and Castiel kneels swiftly, scraping away a strip of paint from the trap.

 

 

The demon immediately roars out, a great ugly column of smoke spiraling and disappearing just as Anna bursts in, Raphael's knife in her hand.

The meatsuit collapses and Castiel stands, darting forward to check his vitals. He exhales harshly.

Alive.

 

Anna curses.

“Other demon’s dead. What the hell happened?”

Castiel tries to support the man, glancing up at her.

“Uh—managed to break the trap,” he lies quickly, pulling the man’s limp form up. “C’mon, help me.”

 

After they do the dash and drop off at the hospital, Anna drives them back to the motel, both of them strangely quiet. 

 _I had to let it go_ , Castiel tells himself. _It could’ve talked. She can’t know._

But he can’t help but feel uneasy, the demon’s words ringing in his mind. 

“Well," Anna says as she unlocks the door, smiling at him. "Overall. Not a bad first run back?”

Castiel shrugs, faking a grin.

“Yeah. Just like riding a bike.”

Anna laughs, then shucks her jacket, heading for the bathroom.

The second the door closes, Castiel yanks his phone out of his pocket, dialing quickly.

 

 

“Gabe,” Castiel says, once he picks up. “Tell me you got something.”

 

 

 

x

 

Even though he seemed reluctant, knowing full well he's risking Anna’s wrath, Gabriel quickly found the proper ritual, if only because he wanted to prove he could. Castiel had counted on that. Gabriel could never resist a challenge.

So Castiel left the church that afternoon, under the pretense of going over to help Gabriel sort through his perpetually messy library. Anna hadn’t questioned it, saluting him out the door. Probably just glad that they hadn’t asked her to help with the boring task.

 

But they're not heading towards Gabe’s house.

 

They're pulling up to a ramshackle building, one that looks like it's been abandoned for years, and Castiel is shaking as he gets out of the car.

He follows Gabriel through a door that’s almost hanging off its hinges, pausing as they step inside, their eyes adjusting to the dim light.

“Alright," Castiel mutters. "Let’s get to work.”

 

 

They make a quick job of it, marking sigils on the wall and floor from every faith and religion on the globe—devil’s traps and pentagrams and pretty much anything else they can think of. 

Castiel stands back, staring at the paint on the wall. He can only hope it'll be enough.

 

Blood of lamb, the root of a yew tree, various other ingredients that Castiel doesn’t even recognize—all get tossed into the pot as Gabriel reads from an old leather-bound book, chanting resolutely. Castiel stands next to him, but he doesn’t hear the words. He’s anxiously brushing over the weapons laid out on the table, double and triple checking the barrels, even though he knows he loaded them properly. He fingers the blade of his knife, nails digging into the runes carved on its surface.

Gabriel’s voice drones on in the silence, and Castiel closes his eyes, trying to breathe. His heart is pounding. 

He eventually grips the knife so hard that his hand starts to hurt, and he reluctantly releases it, laying the blade back down on the table.

Gabriel completes the final incantation, the words ringing through the dark silence.

 

 

They both tense, waiting. But nothing happens.

The seconds tick by.

 

“Well?” Castiel glances at him. “Is that it?”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

“You wanna try? I don’t remember you being an expert in ancient Greek.”

Castiel exhales slowly.

“Sorry. I’m just—“

He bites his tongue.

 

“Apprehensive,” he says carefully.

Gabriel snorts.

“Apprehensive? Jesus, they make you read dictionaries downstairs?”

Castiel freezes.

His back is turned to him, but still, he tries to keep his face neutral.

“I told you Gabriel,” he says icily. “I don’t remember.”

 

Gabriel holds up his hands.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Take it easy, bucko.”

He snaps the book closed, flipping it in his hands.

“Apprehensive is just a big word for ‘completely fucking scared.’”

 

Castiel shoots him a poisonous look.

“I am not _scared._ ”

He picks up his shotgun and cocks it.

“There isn’t anything we can’t handle.”

 

Gabriel looks at him for a moment, Then he sets the book aside, hopping down off the table.

“Cas…whatever this thing is—if it’s not a demon…"

He sighs, looking at the hasty paint splashed on the wall.

"It’s nothing we’ve ever seen before. You can’t tell me that doesn’t make you a little—“

“No, Gabriel.”

Gabriel frowns, but Castiel cuts him off again.

“I am confident in myself, I completely trust you, and I have faith that whatever pulled me from—“ He hesitates. “From…Hell…is manageable.”

He scuffs the toe of his boot in the dirt on the floor, throwing up a little dust.

“After all, we’re the Remingtons.” He looks up, letting a cocky smile slide into place. “Whatever this thing is, it should be afraid of us.”

 

Gabriel’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he doesn’t argue.

They go back to sitting in silence.

 

 

Castiel absentmindedly fiddles with his knife, digging the tip into the wood of the table. He’s barely paying attention to what he’s doing, pressing too hard—and the wood splinters, his hand slipping and the blade clattering to the floor.

He sighs, kneeling down to pick it up. He wraps a hand around the hilt, and pauses.

He can’t be imagining that.

 

Castiel presses a palm against the dirt. Yes, it's moving— _shaking_ now, the walls around them starting to tremble, shutters banging furiously.

Gabriel grabs his shotgun and Castiel backs up against him, looking around frantically as the building violently shakes around them.

The lights burst, sending sparks flying, plunging them into darkness.

 

And then—just as the shaking had started, it abruptly stops. Castiel tightens his grip on the knife, Gabriel’s back heaving against his.

The only sound is their heavy breathing in the dark.

 

 

 

A bright light pierces Castiel’s eyes, and he sees a dark figure striding towards them, silhouetted against the glare. He spins, to yell a warning—but Gabriel is unconscious, lying on the ground, completely still.

Castiel bolts forward, but suddenly the thing is standing there, that light burning into him. It seems like it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere, centering behind its head, shining in a hazy ring.

Castiel doesn’t hesitate—he plunges the knife into its chest, expecting the demon inside to fizzle and die.

But the figure doesn’t even blink.

It slowly looks down at the blade, then lifts up a hand, removing Castiel’s knife and letting it clatter to the floor.

 

“Wow,” it says. “That was rude.”

 

 

Castiel blinks.

 

_What?_

“It’s dark in here. My bad.”

 

The figure snaps its fingers, and the lights burst back to life, sparking again as they illuminate the room. Castiel finally can see the thing—it looked like a man—that had burst in, killed Gabriel—

Gabriel. Castiel throws a panicked look towards his motionless body.

“He’s not dead.”

Castiel’s eyes snap back to the creature in front of him.

“Sorry. I just figured we needed to talk first. Alone.” It flashes him a wicked smile. “You understand.”

Castiel takes a step back.

“Not particularly.”

He can’t help but stare at the hole the knife left in the black t-shirt. There’s no blood leaking from the wound, no sign that it fazed him at all.

“Who are you?” Castiel asks, hands moving silently behind him as he searches for his gun.

The man crosses his arms, smirking.

“I’m the one that dragged your sorry ass out of Hell,” he says, grinning.

Castiel’s fingers curl around the barrels of the shotgun.

“Obviously,” he snarls back. “You still didn’t answer my question.”

The man’s smile fades, but that amusement still hovers in his eyes.

“You mean you don’t know?”

 

He turns to the table, briefly flicking through the pages of Gabriel’s abandoned books, before his eyes settle on a tattered copy of the Bible.

“Seems like you got all the information you need right here.” He glances at Castiel, then back to the script of the summoning spell. He snorts, nudging Gabriel’s leg with his toe.

“And this jackass certainly seemed to know what he was doing—“

 

The rock salt shells hit him deep, and the creature jerks back a little with the force of it. He looks down at his chest, then back up, meeting Castiel’s fiery gaze.

 

“Dude,” he hisses.

 

Castiel tightens his grip on the shotgun, still warm in his hands.

“Don’t touch him.”

 

The man raises his hands in surrender, his eyes unreadable. Castiel keeps the barrels trained on him just in case, even though it had been just as effective in hurting him as the knife had been.

 

“I’m not an idiot.”

 

The man raises an eyebrow, but Castiel continues.

“The weapons I have are useless, I obviously can’t kill you—“

“Damn right,” the man mutters under his breath.

Castiel reluctantly lowers the gun, but keeps his fingers locked tight around the trigger.

“So what do you want?”

A strange expression passes over his face, but then it’s gone. The man sticks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans back against the table, looking nonchalant despite the tension in the air. It makes Castiel’s skin crawl.

“You tell me. You’re the one that summoned me here.”

Castiel briefly shuts his eyes. Whoever—whatever this thing is, it's extremely irritating.

 

“Who are you?” He snaps. “Can you tell me that at least?”

The man smiles.

“The name’s Dean.”

“Dean,” Castiel repeats.

“And I’m an angel.”

 

 

Castiel freezes.

 

“What?”

 

He steps up closer, and Castiel hikes the gun back up, but Dean wrenches it out of his grip, throwing it on the table behind him.

“I,” he says, leaning in closer, “am an angel.”

Despite the fear humming underneath his skin, Castiel rankles.

“Bullshit.”

 

The thing in front of him looks taken aback, just staring at him. Castiel tenses.

But then it laughs, face splitting open into a genuine smile.

“Not exactly the reaction I was going for,” he says, swiping a thumb over his lips. “But hey. I’ll take it.”

Castiel glances around him, mind racing wildly.

 

_An angel?_

 

He stops dead when he sees his gun—or the remnants of it. It’s barely anything but a twisted scrap of metal, the barrel bent at a crooked angle and the handle lying in pieces. Dean had done that with a simple brush of fingers.

Castiel swallows. Maybe he wasn’t lying.

 

He turns back to Dean, who’s resumed his easy position against the edge of the table.

“Angels don’t exist,” he says bluntly.

Dean’s eyes widen in mock surprise.

“Well, shit.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Guess I didn’t get the memo.”

 

Castiel narrows his eyes. Dean sees the squint and huffs, scooting closer.

“Look. I’m here. Choose to believe me or don’t, but it’s true.”

Castiel shakes his head. His father had been a preacher, for Christ’s sake, but after Mom died…

 

“So…what?” Castiel asks sharply, glaring at him. “There’s a god too?”

Dean slides down into the chair by his side, propping his feet up on the table.

“Yup. One and only. Big man upstairs,” he says, pointing skywards.

“And he was the one that gave the order,” he says, leaning back.

“What order?”

Dean looks at him.

“To save you.”

 

Castiel curls his lip.

“And why would God want me out of Hell?”

Dean stares at him for a moment, his eyes wide and dark. Castiel doesn’t dare blink.

Then Dean hops up, the bounce back in his step.

“I dunno. Big plans. They don’t tell me much. But apparently you—“ He pokes Castiel in the chest— “And your little sis are gonna save the world, or some shit like that. So they told me to strap on my wings and pop on down, and—“ He spreads his arms wide. “Here I am.”

Castiel looks him up and down, narrowing his eyes. Even if he did believe him, which he doesn’t, why would they send this sorry excuse of an angel down to save him?

Dean’s smile fades, his arms dropping to his sides.

“You still don’t believe me.”

Castiel snorts.

“Not for a second.”

 

Dean steps closer, peering intently at him. 

“You think you didn’t deserve it,” he murmurs sadly.

Castiel stares at him in shock.

 

Then the angel smiles.

“That’s where you’ve gone wrong, dude. It’s all about faith.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t break the gaze.

Dean looks down at the ground, his eyes closing as he clenches his hands, concentrating.

 

Castiel takes a step back.

 

The room is filled with a flash of hazel as Dean opens his eyes, staring him down.

Castiel stares in awe as a vast expanse stretches out behind Dean, golden streams of light, flecked with a deep blue.

 

And maybe he’s imagining it, but Castiel swears they look like wings.

 

 

The light fades, and Dean relaxes, his shoulders settling. Castiel realizes his mouth is open and quickly closes it.

“What’s the matter?” Dean says, his eyes dancing. “Cat got your tongue?”

Castiel darts his eyes back and forth.

“I—you can’t—“

Dean steps closer, his eyes smoldering.

“I can.”

He towers over Castiel, right in his face. Dean only has a couple inches on him in height, but Castiel feels unbelievably small. He swallows, but doesn’t back away.

“Need more convincing?”

Dean’s breath washes over him, and Castiel flinches. There’s a strange buzzing underneath his skin, but it doesn’t feel like fear. He knows that this is a creature that could rip him apart, destroy him in a flash of light, but Castiel feels no fear. Only exhilaration.

 

He opens his mouth to speak, when Dean cocks his head, his brow furrowing. He quickly turns away, as if he was responding to a call Castiel could not hear.

“I have to go.”

 

Dean steps away, sweeping over to Gabriel, laying a hand on his forehead. He looks up, catching his eyes.

“I’ll see you around. Castiel.”

 

There’s a rush of sound, the papers on the tables flying up in a whirl, and Dean is gone.

 

 

Castiel looks around wildly.

He had just disappeared. Vanished into thin air.

 

Castiel snaps out of his haze when Gabriel sits up, groaning. He rushes to his side, helping him stand.

“Cas,” he manages to say, breathing hard. “What the hell happened?”

Nervous laughter escapes Castiel as he shakes his head.

 

 

 

“You are not going to believe this.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: Discussions of past character death, alcohol (cas nooo)

Castiel tells Anna angels are real. So, naturally, she attacks him.

 

 

Gabriel tries to restrain her, but she shoves him back and chases after Castiel, hitting every part of him she can reach.

“You _asshole_ , you promised—“

He ducks, but she corners him, glowering.

“Castiel—James—Remington—“

Castiel grabs her wrist.

“Anna—“

She tugs against him, shouting.

“Gabriel, where’s my gun! Where’s my goddamn gun—”

“Anna,” he pleads.

“Don’t make me punch you,” she snarls back.

“Look.”

Castiel holds up his other hand.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

 

She yanks her hand back from his and crosses her arms tightly, glaring at him. But she doesn’t say anything, and Castiel recognizes it as permission to continue.

 

He tells her the strange story in its entirety, of his encounter with Dean and his claim of being an angel. She listens for all of it, shaking her head furiously once he’s finished.

“I can’t believe this. I told you _not_ to go.”

Castiel sighs.

“I know, and I’m sorry, I—I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Damn right,” Anna mutters.

 

They both glare at each other, neither refusing to break the gaze—but beside them, Gabriel is practically vibrating out of his seat. Castiel exhales, tearing his eyes away from his sister’s furious expression.

“And what are you so excited about?”

 

Gabriel sits up, hands dragging up and down his knees.

“Dude. Are you kidding?”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. Gabriel scoffs.

“Angels, man, _angels_ —“ He hops up, positively beaming. “I can’t believe it. After years of fighting monsters and demons, we finally get this.” He clasps his hands in mock-prayer. “Halle-freakin’-lujah.”

 

Castiel sits, glaring at the floor.

“I’m not so sure,” he mutters.

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Cas, this is no time for one of your atheist rants—“

“You don’t believe him?”

Anna still looks completely pissed, but he can hear the curious edge to her voice.

 

Castiel picks at his fingers, not looking up.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why not what?” He asks stubbornly.

 “Cas—“

She stops herself, exhaling slowly.

“After all the crap we’ve seen… why not angels?”

Castiel grits his teeth.

“Because they’re not real, Anna.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “God doesn’t exist.”

 

Gabriel looks around, tapping his fingers together.

“You know, we are in a church…”

“And you of all people should know faith doesn’t get people anything,” Castiel snarls.

 

 

He clenches his fists, conscious of the knowing look that passes between Gabriel and Anna.

“Cas…”

“Okay, fine, you believe him. Good for you.” He snaps. “I’m just having a hard time getting on this…soul train you seem so eager to jump on.”

He feels their pitying stares, and his temper flares.

“It doesn’t do anything. Dad believed. Mom believed. Your parents believed,” he sneers, looking at Gabriel. “Your mom always dragged you here for Sunday mass. That help her?”

 

Gabriel doesn’t respond. He just looks down at his feet.

 

“And just look what happened to them,” Castiel mutters, glaring at the two of them. He knows it’s downright cruel, but for some reason, he can’t stop.

“And Mom.” He laughs bitterly.

 

He automatically grips his wrist where the rosary is wound, still broken. 23 years it’s been broken. And he’ll never fix it.

“Now tell me. If there was a god, and angels, why would they ever let that happen?”

Anna bites at her lip.

“Cas…”

“No!” He shouts, clenching his fists. “I’m sick of it. After all that we’ve seen, all we’ve been through, and just one fucking bullet—“

Castiel stutters, losing his words.

 

All three of them are quiet. Castiel takes a shaking breath.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he whispers. “It can’t.”

Anna sits down next to him.

“Why not?” She asks softly.

Castiel raises his head, his heart suddenly stone.

“Because a god that doesn’t care…”

He swallows, voice going flat.

  


“That’s worse than one that doesn’t exist.”

 

Anna looks up at Gabriel. He shrugs. She lets out a slow breath, turning back to Castiel.

“But you said…the angel said he gave the order,” she says carefully. “So maybe…maybe he’s finally started caring.”

“And he’s going to send two humans to do his dirty work?” Castiel grits out.

“Cas,” she sighs.

“Seriously, Anna? Save the _world_?”

He stands, dragging his hands through his hair.

“It can’t—that doesn’t many any sense, I’m not some goddamn hero—“

He drops his hands, turning to face her.

“And I don't want that. I don’t want that kind of responsibility! Do _you_?”

Anna raises an eyebrow.

“You’re saying we should just let the world end?”

“No, I—“

“If we don’t do it, who will?”

Castiel glares at her. She looks around, at the old walls of the church around them.

“We knew what would happen when we signed up for this,” she says softly. “Save as many as we can. That’s what we do. What our family has always done.”

“Except we never signed up,” Castiel mutters.

 

The two of them are quiet. He rubs his arm, sighing harshly.

“Jesus.”

He falls back into his chair, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Why us,” he mutters. “Why is it always us?”

“Yeah, why _is_ it always you?” Gabriel asks, trying to keep a light edge to his voice. “This has gotta be your, what? Fourth, fifth end of the world situation?"

Castiel grimaces, but Gabe just chuckles.

“Hey, I’m used to it. Besides.”

He cracks a smile, giving him a cheeky wink.

“Someone’s gotta be around to clean up your messes.”

Beside him Anna snorts, trying to catch his eye, but Castiel avoids it.

He knows they’re trying to cheer him up, but it’s not working. A dark curl of unease is twisting inside his chest. He can’t be a warrior for Heaven. Because he’s tainted. He’s broken. He will never be able to erase what he did.

 

“Cas.”

Anna sighs.

“I know it’s heavy to think about. Believe me, I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around it too.”

Her words are soft, careful.

“But think about it.”

She covers his hand briefly. Castiel wants to recoil.

“This could be a good thing. They brought you back. And…”

Anna tries to smile, touching his arm gently.

“If…if she was such a believer…maybe she would have wanted this for you.”

“What the fuck do you know?” Castiel snaps. “She wasn’t your mother.”

 

Anna immediately snatches her hand back. Even Gabriel knows he’s stepped over the line.

Castiel stutters, trying to repair the damage.

“Anna—“ He looks up into her dark eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” she shoots back, standing sharply. “What do I know?”

“Christ, Anna, _wait_ —“

But she shoves her chair back and stalks out of the room.

 

Castiel hears the door of her room slam, and he winces. He drops his head to his hands.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Gabriel shuffles, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He doesn’t say anything.

Castiel takes deep breaths, in and out.

_Where the hell did that come from?_

 

“I’m sorry, Gabriel,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have—“ He stops, and sighs. “I shouldn’t talk about them like that.”

Gabriel is quiet.

“It’s okay.”

Castiel glances up at him. Gabriel is looking at him strangely.

“Just uh…get some sleep, okay?”

He looks like he might say something else, but then he seems to change his mind. He gives Castiel an awkward little nod, then quickly ducks out the door.

 

 

Castiel swallows, a strange pit of guilt sitting heavy in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he mutters to the empty room.

 

 

x

Castiel glares at the wall, hand clenching at the sheets beneath him. It’s the middle of the night, but he doesn’t think he could fall back asleep if he tried. Even the whiskey burning hot through his veins hadn’t done anything to calm him down.

He stares, motionless for a few minutes. But finally he resolves himself, sitting up and turning on the lamp.  

And for the first time in almost seven years, he pulls the dusty tome from its shelf, settling at his desk and flipping through the heavy pages.

 

_Spread out above the heads of the living creatures was what looked like an expanse, sparkling like ice, and awesome._

Castiel presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes. He breathes for a minute, then continues.

 

_When the creatures moved, I heard the sound of their wings, like the roar of rushing waters, like the voice of the Almighty, like the tumult of an army._

Castiel swallows. He had seen something, that much was true. A flash of gold behind Dean, as he stood before him in that old building.

 

Castiel runs a hand over his face, sighing harshly.

No.

It had to be a coincidence.

 

He turns back to the book in his hands, tracing the inked letters with the tip of one finger.

_And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from Heaven._

The walls _had_ shook around them—

_His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow: And for fear of him the keeper did shake._

 

 

Castiel snaps the bible closed and leans back, breathing evenly.

 

Okay.

 

 

Say angels are real. What does that mean?

 

 

 

That would mean…God is real. That the angels pulled him from Hell. Saved him for a reason. For a destiny.

Castiel places the bible back on the shelf with shaking fingers.

It can’t be true. They can’t be telling the truth.

  


He drops down, pulling the bottle into bed with him, until the chaos in his head melts away and he falls into blackness.

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel drums his fingers on the wheel.

He’s driving to meet Gabriel at some podunk town off of Highway 41, after Anna had practically shoved him out the door earlier that morning. She said it was because he needed a little male bonding time, but he knows she’s still pissed at him. So now he’s off at the ass-crack of dawn to help Gabriel out on a routine haunting that Castiel knows he could handle perfectly well by himself.

He sighs, checking over his shoulder as he pulls into the right lane.

Castiel had tried to apologize again as he was leaving, but Anna just slammed the door in his face. So he's in a pretty foul mood, definitely not helped by the morning traffic. His temper is already running hot these days, and on top of everything else, he's goddamn starving.

 

He chews absently at his lip, glancing at the clock on the dash. He had barely been on the road for ten minutes. But then his stomach growls again, and he makes his decision.

Gabriel could wait a little longer.

 

Castiel takes the turn for one of his favorite spots, already envisioning his meal, when something flashes out of the corner of his eye.

He takes one look and nearly runs the car off the road.

 

 

“Holy sh—“

“Blasphemy!” Dean reproaches cheerfully.

 

Castiel wrenches the car back in between the yellow lines, panting.

“Jesus _Christ_.”

“Yeah, we’re really going to have to work on all that sacrilegious talk,” Dean says, tsking. Castiel whips his head around.

“What the hell are you doing in my car?”

Dean ignores Castiel’s furious tone and leans an elbow on the windowsill, scratching his head.

“Eh. Thought I’d pop in. Not too much going on upstairs.”

Castiel shoots him an incredulous look.

“You’re bored?”

Dean snorts.

“Very.”

Castiel grits his teeth.

“And you thought you’d try to scare me to death?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Dean tugs at his hair, grimacing.

“Sorry, dude.” He laughs, leaning back and propping his feet up against the dashboard. “Would’ve been a shame. Seeing as I just resurrected you, and all that.” He glances over, flashing him a cocky grin.

Castiel doesn’t return it. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, shoving Dean’s legs off the leather. Dean sputters indignantly.

“Dude—”

“No feet on my dash.”

 

Dean flops back, scowling, but Castiel ignores him. He brings both hands back to the wheel, fuming.

A fucking angel in his car. Or at least, something that called himself an angel. Castiel longed to pull out his gun and show this _Dean_ just exactly what he really thought of the whole goddamn heavenly host, but he wasn’t sure he could do that without crashing.

He lets out a slow breath, settling back, and decides to act as if there was nothing in the seat beside him.

 

Without the benefit of a footrest, Dean sinks sideways, leaning against the windowsill again. Castiel feels him staring, but refuses to look. He fixes his gaze straight ahead, pretending the turn signal of the sedan in front of him is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

 

“Yo. Castiel.”

 

He ignores him.

“ _Castiel._ ”

Castiel sets his jaw, staring determinedly at the road. Dean heaves a theatric sigh.

“Oh, Cas-ti- _elllll—“_

He snaps.

“ _What_?”

Dean smirks.

“Just making sure your ears work,” he says smugly.

Castiel exhales slowly, rolling his neck. The angel pulls a petulant pout.

“See, I’ve never actually resurrected anyone before. Wanna make sure I got everything right.”

Castiel forgets he’s pretending Dean doesn’t exist.

“Yeah, about that,” he says savagely. “Why exactly did you?”

When he doesn’t answer, Castiel spares him a glance. Dean’s staring at him with that piercing gaze, a slight smile on his face. Castiel narrows his eyes.

Then Dean seems to shake himself, settling back in the seat and crossing his arms.

“All in good time, hon,“ he says, winking. “You’ll know when you need to know.”

Castiel bites back the violent diatribe he longs to throw at him.

“You realize how irritating that is,” he says carefully, gritting his teeth.

“Indeed I do.” Dean smirks. “Maybe I like watching you squirm.”

Castiel stares at him.

_What?_

Dean’s bright gaze holds his own for a moment before clouding and dipping away.

 

There’s an awkward gap as neither of them speak. The quiet in the car is almost deafening.

Dean starts to tap his fingers, shifting restlessly in his seat. Castiel takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

_God grant me the serenity_ …

Eventually Dean breaks the silence.

“Dude, what are you driving?”

 

Castiel spares a moment from the road to glance at Dean. He’s taking in the car around him, his lip curling.

“Seriously. What is this?”

Castiel rankles, his shoulders stiffening.

“It’s a car.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, duh, a car.” He snorts. “Why is it so lame, is what I’m asking.”

Castiel wants to throttle him. He settles for tightening his grip on the wheel.

“I happen to like my car,” he retorts. This has been his faithful pickup for almost 10 years, and he's not about to let some punk angel start dissing it.

Dean raises his hands.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” He shrugs. “Suits you, I guess.”

Castiel fumes, but doesn’t respond. He desperately wants to interrogate this Dean, make him spill about this ‘saving the world’ crap and all the cryptic messages he had dropped on them, but Castiel's starting to think it won’t be too long before he snaps and stabs him again.

Castiel sighs, briefly closing his eyes at a stoplight as he tries to calm down. Maybe if he doesn’t engage him, Dean will decide he's bored down here too, and go away. Castiel doesn’t need this. Despite Anna and Gabriel’s chidings, he still isn’t sure that Dean can be trusted. Or that he's even telling the truth.

 

Castiel sees the sign for his diner, and he pulls over without a word.

“Where are we going?”

He really shouldn’t be this irritating, because Castiel has always prided himself on being non-confrontational, but something about Dean really gets under his skin. Though…it seems like everything is getting under his skin lately. Seriously, since—

Castiel swallows.

Since…Hell…even the littlest things seem to piss him off.

Especially the dickwad angel who had dropped into his car without invitation.

 

“Man’s gotta eat sometime,” Castiel answers shortly.

Dean straightens, suddenly eager.

“Ooh, where at?”

Castiel exhales, pulling into the parking lot.

“I—am going to a diner.” He turns the key and meets Dean’s innocent gaze. “ _You_ can go back to wherever you came from. I’ve got better things to do than babysit.”

Castiel hops out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

He starts heading towards the entrance, completely conscious of the fact that Dean is following him. He scowls, whirling.

“What?” He snaps. Dean rolls back on his heels, sticking his hands in his pockets. He looks up at him sheepishly.

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Never had food before.”

Castiel squints. That was unexpected.

“Really?” He eventually asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Dean nods. Then he looks up.

“Buy me breakfast?” He asks, his eyebrows waggling.

Castiel crosses his arms.

“I thought angels didn’t need to eat.”

Dean drops his eyes to the ground.

“True.” He toes a crack in the pavement. “Doesn’t mean we can’t though.”

 

Castiel glares at him for a moment, then just sneers, turning away and heading towards the diner’s entrance.

He wraps his fingers around the handle, but despite all his bravado, he can’t seem to bring himself to pull it open.

_Just open the damn door, Castiel._

He struggles with himself for a minute. Then he sinks his head against the frame, letting out a groan. He's going to regret this.

 

He sighs heavily and pulls the door open, raising an indignant eyebrow. Dean’s face splits into a fucking beaming _grin,_ and he practically runs inside, Castiel grumbling under his breath as he follows.

 

 

Castiel slides into one of the booths, and Dean drops into the seat opposite him, practically buzzing with excitement. Castiel picks up the menu, briefly scanning the list of specials. He doesn’t know why he bothers—seeing as he almost always gets the same thing—but right now, he has to focus on anything other than the hyperactive bouncing mess of angel currently sitting across from him.

Castiel looks up bluntly from his menu. Dean is staring at the plastic-covered images in awe, like they’re the eighth wonder of the world.

“What do I get?” He asks, his voice hushed and timid.

Castiel sighs.

“What do you like?”

Dean frowns, looking genuinely panicked.

“I—I don’t know. I’ve never eaten before, dude. You gotta help me out.”

Castiel rolls his eyes for what seems the eleventh hundred time that morning.

“Well. You can get the same as me,” he says tiredly, gesturing. “Or, I don’t know…um…pancakes. Can’t go wrong with pancakes.”

Dean looks back at the menu, nodding hard.

“Pancakes,” he repeats. “Okay. I could do that.”

Castiel shuts his eyes briefly, wondering what he ever did to deserve this.

“All right.” He folds up his menu. “Short stack it is, then.”

 

The waitress comes by a little bit later, and Castiel orders for the both of them, after Dean stared in confusion at the poor girl for a good ten seconds before Castiel jumped to his rescue. Jesus—for a supposedly age-old angel, he's pretty damn clueless.

Castiel hands the menus to their waitress and slumps back in his seat. He just wants his fucking coffee.

Dean’s eyes are darting everywhere, his face full of awe. Castiel is getting irritated with that obnoxiously happy grin on his face. It was way too early for this.

 

“What are you doing?” He asks flatly.

Dean spares a moment to look at him.

“What?” He asks indignantly. Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“Why are you looking at everything like that?”

Dean is oblivious.

“Like what?”

Castiel scoffs.

“Like it's the most wondrous thing on the planet. I’ve been in hundreds of diners like this. Believe me, it’s nothing special.”

Dean shrugs, tapping his fingers on the table.

“I don’t know…it’s just—“

He smiles widely.

“I’ve been watching humans for so long, but I’ve never been able to actually experience any of this stuff. Like this cup right here.”

He lifts his empty coffee mug, fingers reverently tracing the cheap porcelain.

“Absolutely beautiful,” he breathes. “And, jeez—actually _talking_ to people—“

He glances at their waitress, his eyes lighting up.

“It’s…wow. It’s awesome.”

Castiel is unimpressed.

“Well.”

He picks at a spot on the table, grimacing when the plastic peels up under his fingers.

“You royally fucked up the ‘talking to people’ part.”

Dean’s grin slides off his face.

“Really?”

Castiel nods.

“Really.”

 

He’s spared when his coffee gets there a moment later, able to ignore Dean as he sucks down the heavenly black liquid. He relaxes a little as he feels its energy settle and jump beneath his skin.

Castiel sighs, content for the moment. But then he looks up to see Dean staring again, and his sour mood comes right back.

He doesn’t know who Dean thinks he is, but if this asshole is going to try and intimidate him with these constant staring contests, he has another thing coming.

  


So Castiel gives him the glare right back, as well as an unimpressed once over.

Those boots are back, propped up on the seat next to Castiel, and he’s got on a ragged leather jacket that looks like it’s been dragged across at least five continents. Though, if Dean really is an angel, perhaps that isn’t entirely an impossibility.

Castiel decides to test him.

 

“I still don’t believe you exist,” he says dismissively, crossing his arms. Dean merely raises an eyebrow.

“Really.” He twirls his fork in his fingers. “So. What am I then?” He asks, a slight smile playing around his lips.

Castiel shrugs, nonchalant.

“Don’t know. Very powerful demon, probably. Or some monster we’ve never even seen before.”

“I resent that.”

“Oh, well then I am _sorry_ ,” Castiel says snidely. “I guess I’m just not ready to expand my worldview to include angels.”

Dean pokes his tongue in his cheek, squinting at him.

“What do you want me to do? Quote scripture?”

Castiel lets out a noncommittal grunt. Dean sinks back in his seat, placing a hand over his heart.

“On the first day, God said…let there be light,” he intones. “And then—on the second day, uh…um.”

He glances up briefly to see if Castiel is watching. He coughs hastily.

“Well. Whatever. Fourth—sun, moon, stars, et cetera, et cetera—“

“This isn’t exactly convincing me.”

“And _then,_ on the sixth day—“

Dean sits up.

“He created man. Who—“ He raises a finger. “While fascinating, are not quite as awesome as angels, which—” He points to himself. “Definitely. Totally. Exist.”

Castiel remains unmoved.

“Uh huh.”

Dean takes in his dubious expression and scoffs, sliding his feet back onto the seat across from him.

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he mutters.

 

Castiel picks up his coffee again.

“I don’t think anyone would blame me,” he says lightly, taking a brief sip. “You don’t exactly fit the expectation.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“And what did you expect?”

Castiel shrugs, avoiding his cocky gaze.

“Not sure,” he admits. “But not this.”

He smirks at Dean’s suddenly irritated expression.

“Definitely not feeling the whole wrathful force of God thing,” Castiel adds, just to twist the knife a little.

Dean scowls.

“Humans are so limited.” He stretches, trying to look indifferent. “My true form is pretty damn awesome. But popping down to Earth constrains us a bit.”

 

Castiel looks up sharply.

“What?”

“This is a vessel,” Dean says idly, now staring out the window.

“You’re possessing someone?”

Dean sees the look on his face, and he sits up, trying to backtrack.

“Oh, shit, no, he—he agreed to it, angels need permission—“ He says quickly. “It’s nothing like what demons do.”

Castiel stays silent, raking his eyes over Dean’s form again. He swallows.

There's someone in there, he realizes, feeling sick to his stomach. Someone trapped. Unaware.

Poor bastard.

 

“I had permission,” Dean says quietly.

 

Castiel looks up, into the unknown man’s eyes. They’re staring at him, anxiously trying to gauge his reaction.

Castiel hesitates, but finally lifts a hand, waving it slightly.

“Yeah, it’s just—“ He sighs. “Weird.”

He’s not really sure how he feels about that. Permission is one thing, but…

Castiel bites his lip.

Doesn’t seem fair.

 

 

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence. Castiel taps his fingers on his mug.

 

They’re saved by the arrival of their food. Castiel hunkers down, ready to eat in silence, but when Dean takes his first bite, he practically yells out loud.

“DUDE.”

Heads snap towards their table, and Castiel flushes, nearly a dozen curious gazes suddenly laser-focused on them. He quickly hisses at Dean to can it, spewing out proper table etiquette under his breath.

Dean moans.

“Oh, wow—“

“Shut up, you idiot—“

“These are fucking _amazing_ —“

“Dammit, Dean, _quiet._ ”

Castiel finally gets him to tone it down, but Dean abuses the silence to devour the rest of his meal in a flash, dousing everything in maple syrup and sucking obscenely at his fingers. Castiel covers his face in his hands.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, trying to will the blood away from his cheeks.

“Hey, that’s my dad you’re talking about.”

 

Castiel looks up sharply, but Dean is grinning at him. Castiel realizes belatedly that he’s returning the smile, and hastily clears his throat, looking away.

Dean promptly vacuums up his own food, and starts throwing shifty looks at Castiel’s. Finally he leans over and blatantly steals a chunk of potato from Castiel’s plate, popping it into his mouth.

“Can’t believe I never tried eating before this, Jesus Christ—“

“Okay, now who’s being blasphemous?” Castiel mutters, cutting his sausage.

Dean finishes chewing and shrugs.

“Hey. I’m merely repeating what I hear. I am a blank slate, and I learn from you.” He leans back, picking at his teeth.

“You humans do have a knack for cursing.”

“Fuck you.”

Dean grins.

 

He insists on trying everything, but Castiel absolutely refuses, reminding Dean that even though he might not have a limited stomach capacity, most humans certainly did, and Castiel’s pretty sure someone would notice if Dean managed to put away the entire list of specials.

But he needles him, and Castiel eventually relents, letting him order one more thing, and one more thing, _only._ Dean finally settles on a piece of strawberry rhubarb pie, and for all his pornographic sounds earlier, it’s nothing compared to what he does now.

Castiel drops his fork.

“That does it.”

“Dude, what now—“

“Just paying,” Castiel snaps, standing. “And _stop_ ,” he mouths at him, glaring. Dean rolls his eyes but obliges, finishing his slice in (mostly) silence.

They emerge from the diner almost two hours after going in, and Castiel doesn’t even question it when Dean slides into the passenger seat again.

“Thanks for the meal, Cas,” he says sincerely, shutting the door behind him.

Castiel raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t comment.

 

Cas. No one calls him that except his family. And Dean is definitely not family.

But for some reason the nickname rolled easy off of Dean’s tongue, sounding almost natural.

Castiel is surprised by how much it doesn’t bother him.

 

They spend a few easy minutes on the highway, bickering happily back and forth, when a red warning light flashes up.

Castiel frowns, tapping the gauge on his dash.

“Running on empty. Gotta pull off for a sec.”

Dean listens patiently as Castiel explains the steps of getting gas to him, and once he realizes how boring the process is, he slumps back in his seat. Dean rolls down his window and leans his chin on his crossed arms over the windowsill though, continuing their conversation as Castiel stands at the pump, watching the numbers sluggishly tick higher and higher.

Dean’s eyes fix onto something behind Castiel, and his mouth drops open.

 

“Would you look at that,” he breathes, and Castiel frowns. He sounds like he had this morning after trying his first bite of pancakes. He turns, not exactly sure what Dean’s looking at at first. Then he sees it.

A shiny black car, pulling up to the pump opposite them. The driver slides out of the front seat, oily smooth, like he knows he’s got the slickest ride around. The man sidles inside the minimart, and Dean smiles widely.

“Be right back.”

He disappears in a flutter of wings before Castiel can even protest, and he whirls, seeing Dean sitting in the front seat—the fucking front seat—his hands washing over the leather.

Castiel nearly drops the gas pump.

  


He scrambles and regains his grip, gesturing violently at Dean.

Dean cocks his head, pressing a hand to his ear.

Castiel growls, having half a mind to run over there and smack him upside the head.

Dean pounds a fist against the dash, and the stereo of the car blasts to life, playing some song Castiel doesn’t know, but heads are turning, all gaping at the strange man rocking out in the front seat of the car with the Chevy logo.

Castiel is about ready to go over there and wring his neck, when—

 

The owner of the car pushes open the door of the minimart. He takes in the sight of his car, still echoing with the shout of the radio.

The man dips in through the window and switches off the music, frowning.

Castiel turns back to his own car to see Dean laughing hysterically in the passenger seat.

 

“You little—

He finishes the transaction as fast as he can, pulling away from the gas station with a squeal of tires.

“You fucking _asshole_.”

Dean is still laughing.

Castiel refuses to look at him, fighting back his smile. Dean punches him lightly on the shoulder.

“C’mon, that was hilarious.”

Castiel grits his teeth, not wanting to admit it.

“You—“

He shakes his head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Dean smiles devilishly and leans back, tapping out a beat on his knee. He sighs, arching his back.

“Oh, that car, though…man.” He nods his head slightly, as if to some invisible tune. “Wish I owned a baby girl like that.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow, glancing at him.

“Baby?”

Dean snorts.

“Why, what do you call this bucket of bolts? Grandma?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“I like my car,” he repeats, but it’s not unkind. He can already tell. Dean has an uncanny way of worming his way into things. Castiel loves his family, obviously—he holds an unhealthy devotion to Anna and Gabriel—but he can count the number of friends he has on one hand.

But this morning with Dean had turned out to be nothing like he expected, and Castiel realizes he’s enjoying himself.

Jesus Christ.

 

Castiel had called Gabriel as they left the diner, explaining that he might be a little bit later than expected, but he didn’t elaborate on the reason why. What could he say?

_Sorry—it’s just the angel who pulled me out of Hell popped into my car, and well, darnit, if we didn’t just get breakfast, giggling like schoolgirls all the way here—_

Fuck no. Castiel isn’t about to tell anyone about that.

 

There's still another hour or so on the highway to go, and Dean had promised to get out of his hair at the end of it. Castiel had agreed, but for some reason, the thought makes him frown.

Dean starts fiddling with the knobs on his dash, the radio hissing as it flares to life. He messes with the controls for a while before glancing up at Castiel.

“What do you want to listen to?”

Castiel shrugs.

“Oh, come on. You gotta have some favorites.”

Castiel rubs his shoulder, not looking at him.

“Not really.”

He’s met with only silence, and he glances over. Dean is staring at him, his mouth open.

“Dude. Do you not listen to music or something? You some kind of freak?”

Castiel frowns, but doesn’t answer. Dean huffs exasperatedly.

“Wow. You really are.”

“I am not a freak,” Castiel says evenly. Dean ignores him, hands wandering down towards the dash again.

“Jesus, Cas—just sit back, because you are about to get blown _away_.”

He snaps his fingers, and the radio immediately switches to a strumming guitar, the beat echoing through them. Dean nods his head, tapping along on the windowsill.

“Yeah, here we go.”

The singer starts crooning, sounding vaguely familiar.

“Ughh, this is one of my favorites,” Dean groans out. Castiel snorts.

“And how do you have favorites?”

Dean points at himself, raising an eyebrow.

“Hello, angel? I’ve been alive longer than music’s even existed.”

Castiel chuckles, but turns back to the road, listening. He doesn’t want to admit he enjoys it, but he does.

 

“Who is this?”

Dean stares at him.

“Dude. What.”

He faces him, suddenly dead serious.

“You’re telling me you’ve lived all these years on God’s green earth—and you’ve never listened to the mastery that is Led Zeppelin?”

Castiel just shrugs in response. Dean gasps in exasperation.

“Oh man. Okay—no. We are going to need a lot of road trips to get you educated.”

 

Dean starts on all his favorite bands, rattling off a long list as Castiel listens.

But instead of filling him with dread, the thought of Dean joining him on the road is…not unpleasant.

 

And that is bad.

That is very bad.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sammyyyyy!
> 
> warnings: past character death
> 
> next chapter will probably go up same time next week, because work owns my ass.

 

Gabriel leans back, feet propped up on the table as he sucks obscenely at his lollipop. Castiel watches him with a mixture of disgust and fascination.

“One of these days, all of your teeth are going to fall out," he says idly.

Gabriel grins, flashing said teeth at him.

“Better get my kicks in while I can, then."

 

He bites down on the sucker, smiling when it makes a satisfying crunch.

“Jeez, Cas," Anna mumbles from under the sink. "You’re starting to sound like Dad,” 

 

Castiel glares at her as she comes up for air, but Anna ignores him, wiping her hands on a dirty rag.

“Should be fixed, Gabe,” she says, throwing it on the table.

Gabriel bats his eyelashes.

“Thanks, doll.”

She just rolls her eyes and turns on the water of the sink, starting to scrub the grease from her arms.

 

Castiel turns back disinterestedly to his book. He feels Gabriel’s eyes on him and turns another page, not looking up.

“What?”

Gabriel shrugs.

“Dunno. Just thinking.”

He glances over at Anna, who’s now wiping her hands on a clean towel, watching them.

“You got anything in the way of angels?”

Castiel sighs.

 

It had been almost three weeks since he had last seen Dean, and it was only for about two seconds, when he had appeared to ask what the advantages of a spork were. He had been flashing in intermittently ever since that first morning in the diner, always about random crap, never sticking around long enough for anyone else to see him. And whenever Castiel tried to press him for details on their—‘destiny’—or whatever they were headed towards, Dean would always change the subject.

Castiel's starting to think maybe he's schizophrenic, or that he dreamed the whole thing up. Anna and Gabriel certainly seem to think so.

 

“I told you, I don’t what his deal is,” Castiel says, flipping his book closed. “And I certainly don’t control where he goes.”

Gabriel smacks down on his lollipop and pulls out the bare stick, eyeing it appreciatively before tossing it in the direction of the trash.

“Hmmph. Well.” He settles back, scratching absently at his stomach. “Wish I had met the guy. It’d be nice to confirm that you’re not batshit insane, Cas.”

Castiel chuckles, but silently, he agrees.

 

Anna walks up behind Gabe and smacks the back of his head.

“Dude—“

“No littering," she says brandishing the stick at him. Gabriel gives a dramatic huff, but takes it and aims again, actually making the trash this time. But when her back is turned, Gabriel flips her off.

 

She grabs her beer from the counter and sits opposite them at the table, starting to fiddle with her revolver.

“He’s right though, Cas,” she says, after a moment, running a rag over the metal until it shines. “We should try and figure out what the hell he’s talking about. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to know how I’m going to save the world.”

Castiel snorts. He has the same questions. Anna loads the bullets and spins the cylinder, out of habit.

“At least try and—“

There’s a sudden flash of movement, and they all react in different ways—Gabriel falls over backwards in his chair, and Castiel grabs his gun from the table in front of him—but Anna beats him to it. The air is still resounding with the echo of her shot as the three of them take in the new figure standing in the middle of the kitchen.

“Ow,” Dean pouts, looking down.

 

 

Castiel relaxes. Anna glances at him, her gun still trained on Dean.

Castiel waves a hand.

“It’s him. It’s…it’s Dean.”

She lowers her gun, but she keeps her finger on the trigger, eyeing him warily.

 

Gabriel hastily clambers up, trying to save face from completely falling on his ass.

“Damn.” He straightens his shirt, setting his chair back upright. “Nice reflexes.”

Dean pokes at the bullet hole in his shirt.

“She shoots me, and all you can say is ‘nice reflexes’?”

He dips his fingers in, actually pulling the bullet out of his goddamn chest.

 

He snorts at their shocked faces, rolling the metal around in his fingers.

“Seriously, is this gonna be a theme with you Remingtons? ‘Hello, nice to meet you, here’s some shells to the chest.’”

He tosses the bullet back to Anna, and she barely catches it in time, blinking down at the silver in her palm. Castiel bites his lip, trying not to laugh.

 

“Speaking of which—“

 

Dean beams at her, his entire face lighting up. He hesitates for a moment, but then darts forward, sweeping her up into his arms.

“Hello. Anna,” he breathes. “It’s so great to finally—to meet you.”

Anna shoots a glance over at Castiel. He shrugs.

 

She grimaces at the angel currently hugging her, and gives him a few awkward pats on the back.

“Yeah, um. Same. I guess.”

“Do I get a hug too?”

 

Dean finally lets Anna go, stepping back to see Gabriel staring at him disdainfully.

“Oh.” He squints at him. “Hey.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

“Name’s Gabriel. You knocked me out.”

Dean shoots a glance over at Castiel.

“Yeah, I—“

“Hell of an introduction,” Gabe says dryly, crossing his arms.

Dean eyes him for a minute, then shrugs, pulling a cocky grin.

“Sorry, dude. Hazards of the job.”

Gabriel looks him up and down, his eyes narrowed.

 

Dean clears his throat, awkwardly glancing around.

“Well, anyway. Nice place you got here.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel says coolly. “But did you just come here for small talk, or are you gonna tell us about this divine order of yours?”

 

They all stare at him. Anna seems dumbstruck, that Gabriel would dare talk to him like that. Especially when they have no idea how powerful Dean actually is.

Dean narrows his eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“You see, we’re a might bit confused on this whole saving the world thing.”

Gabriel saunters forward, squinting at him.

“Angels, god, et cetera, et cet-er-ah—“

Castiel taps his fingers on the table.

“Gabriel. Chill.”

Gabriel pauses briefly to flash him his best shit-eating grin. He’s not even near done antagonizing Dean.

“No, you see, I wanna know what’s going on. Cassie here might not have the same reaction to bullshit as I do—“

“Gabe, seriously—“

“But I for one, am damn interested.”

 

 

The room settles into an uncomfortable silence.

 

 

Dean glares at him, a dangerous glint in his eye. Castiel stands, trying to stop Gabriel before he says anything that might get him struck down by lightning, or righteous fury or whatever—

But he’s barreling on.

 

“You drag my cousin out of Hell, drop the bomb on us that angels are real, say these two are going to save the world, and then disappear?”

Gabriel gives an unimpressed laugh.

“I think we need a little background, hot wings.”

 

Dean hasn’t moved. He pulls himself up to his full height, towering over Gabe.

“Mind your tone,” he mutters. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

 

They glare at each other, Gabriel’s expression furious.

 

 

Castiel clears his throat.

“Dean?”

 

Dean turns to look at him, his expression softening. Castiel relaxes slightly.

“My…idiot relative aside. It’d, uh, it’d be nice to clear a few things up.”

Behind Dean, Gabriel scowls, retreating back to his chair and flopping down in it.

Dean ignores him.

“Yeah, I get it—sorry for disappearing on you. Been a little preoccupied,” he says, one hand absently rubbing his arm. Castiel’s eyes follow the movement.

He frowns. There’s a deep scratch in his arm—barely healed. Dean drops his arm, calmly folding his sleeve down over the injury.

“There’s uh—been bit of a dustup upstairs.”

 

Gabriel crosses his arms, watching Dean through narrowed eyes.

“Kinda chaos right now.” Dean shrugs. “And they didn’t tell me much. Just to jailbreak you and sit tight,” he says, glancing at Castiel.

“They?” Anna asks.

“My superiors,” Dean explains.

“You have superiors?”

“Unfortunately,” he says, grimacing.

She chews her lip, watching him. But her shoulders soften, and she’s nodding.

 

Dean tucks his hands in his pockets, his eyes wandering over to the table. It’s mostly littered with scraps of lore and Gabriel’s mess, but the angel smiles when he sees the half-drunk bottles.

“Well, hey. I’ll make you a deal.”

He nods toward the table.

“You open me up a beer, and I’ll tell you all about it,” he says, smirking at him.

Castiel feels his lips tug up into a smile.

“Sure.”

 

Gabriel shoots him a dirty glare, but Castiel ignores him, nudging past Anna towards the fridge. He’s barely made it three steps when there’s another flash, a swirl of air whipping through the room.

 

 

Gabriel nearly topples over in his chair again.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_.”

The newcomer fixes him with such a violent stare that, for once, leaves Gabriel speechless.

 

“ _Sam?_ ”

 

 

Castiel whirls.

Dean is motionless, staring at the tall figure in the middle of the kitchen, his mouth hanging open. His face is a storm of emotion—fear, and shock, and the strangest sort of joy—

“Dean—“

The angel—was it an angel?—strides forward, grabbing Dean’s arm.

“There’s no time, we have to go—“

Dean is dumbstruck, but still shakes his head, tugging at the grip.

“But how—why are you _here_?”

“I came to warn you,” he says quickly, “but it won’t be long until they notice I’m gone—so we have to _go_ —“

Dean seems to remember where they are, glancing at the three of them before yanking the man into the corner, murmuring in low tones.

“What are you talking about? Sam—“

The angel’s eyes dart everywhere, his chaotic manner a sharp contrast to the rigid stiffness of his black suit.

“They’re coming, Dean, and they’re not just sending the grunts anymore, _she’s_ here—“

Anna stands quickly, cutting through their muttered arguing with a loud voice.

“What the _hell_ is going on?”

 

The angel whirls, looking around irritably for the interruption. But when he sees her, he abruptly stills.

“It’s you,” he breathes. “Anna.”

 

Anna takes a slow step back, her hand dropping to her gun on the table. The angel is staring at her like he’s seeing the sun for the first time. Dean stands fuming behind him, his fists clenched.

Then his eyes fall on Castiel, and they darken rapidly.

“And him.”

 

 

Castiel tenses at the suddenly icy tone of his voice. Anna quickly moves to his side, gripping his arm.

The angel continues to stare at him, emotion and conflict running across his face.

“You should throw him back in Hell now,” he mutters, and they all start. “Then this mess will be over.”

 

Dean places a hand on his chest, shielding Castiel from him.

“Sam, no,” he says firmly.

“Dean, this is serious,” he snaps, throwing his hand off. “You went against orders, _explicit orders_ —“

“Sam—“

“ _No_ ,” he growls back. “Don’t do that, don’t—I don’t want you to end up like—“

He stops suddenly, his expression hardening.

Castiel swallows, opening his mouth—but the tall angel is speaking again, panic slowly creeping in.

“You don’t want it, Dean,” he says, his voice hoarse.

 

_“HEY.”_

 

 

 

They all turn. Gabriel’s got his arms spread wide open, absolutely furious.

“ _Seriously_. What the fuck is going on??”

The angel’s eyes flash.

“Stay out of this.”

“I will not have my kitchen become a goddamn underground railroad for angels—“

“You hold your tongue—“

“Shut up, Sam!” Dean thunders. “Everyone shut up!”

 

He turns to the three of them, holding up his hands.

“Okay, look, cards on the table—“

His eyes dart back and forth, his voice tense.

“You’re not safe here. We have to go.”

 

Gabriel hisses, but Castiel just shakes his head, trying to protest.

“But—“

“No time,” Dean says urgently, seizing Castiel’s arm and dragging him forward. Castiel struggles against his grip.

“What—Dean, no—“

“Not without answers,” Gabriel snarls.

 

“The wards I put up won’t hold for long if she’s after us," Dean blurts. Castiel rips his hand away, yelling at him.

“What are you talking about!”

“Cas, there’s no time, I just need you to—“

“ _Enough.”_

 

 

Sam darts forward and seizes Dean’s elbow—

 

 

And then they’re gone, a rush of wind scattering the papers from Gabriel’s desk.

The three of them are left blinking at the empty room.

 

Anna whirls on him, her eyes blazing.

“Cas, what was that? _What was that_?”

“You think I know?”

“Dammit, Cas—“

He hears the echo of shouting voices from down the hall, and quickly hushes them, straining to hear. Castiel motions for them to stay and runs towards the sound, heart pounding.

 

He rounds the corner and nearly breaks his neck as he whips back out of sight. Sam and Dean are arguing, their voices carrying in the late afternoon air. He’s pretty sure they didn’t see him—

“Please, Sam, just hear me out.”

“You—“

 

Silence.

 

Castiel chances a look around the corner, but they’re gone. He breathes hard, mind racing. What the hell—

They pop back into existence and Castiel throws himself back again, holding his breath.

 

“Don’t _do_ that!”

“We are not having this conversation in fucking Finland, Jesus—“

“Oh, so you want to have it right next to your precious humans? You’re endangering them just by being here!”

“Sam, just listen—“

“Seriously, these people, the ones you think you’re saving—they’re going to have a target on their backs now,” Sam growls, his frustration clear. “They’re already hunting you. If they find you, do you know what they’ll do?”

“I know, but—”

“It’s inevitable,” Sam snaps. “And with her above ground, as it gets closer…it won’t be long until _he_ comes down too.”

Castiel has no idea who they’re talking about, but he can’t help the shiver that runs through him at the fear in Sam’s voice.

 

“I know. I _know_. But I can’t leave now—if she really does come, I have to try and protect them—“

“Dean, I don’t know what you’re playing at—“

“Sam—“

“My priority is _you_ , not these humans.”

“What the hell, man?” Dean yells.

 

It goes quiet.

Castiel holds his breath.

 

 

“What are you?” Dean snaps. “Why are you acting like this?”

 

There’s no answer.

“Like what?” Sam asks eventually, his voice stiff.

“This isn’t the Sam I know,” Dean grits out. “You’re different."

“Yeah, well.”

 

Sam clears his throat.

“2000 years is a long time.”

“Speaking of which.”

 

Castiel strains to hear, inching towards the doorway.

 

“How the hell did you get out, Sammy?” Dean asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

 

 

Sam is quiet.

“They let me—“

“No.”

A deep breath.

 

 

“Please. Don’t give me that bullshit. Not you.”

Dean is commanding, but broken, almost agonized.

 

“Dean,” Sam pleads.

“If you’re out, it’s because they want you to do something,” Dean mutters.  “And maybe that’s why you’ve got that blade up your sleeve.”

 

 

Castiel sucks in a breath.

 

 

“Who is it for?” Dean continues, his voice deadly quiet.

 

 

Castiel edges around closer to the doorway. Both of them come into view, standing at odds amid Gabe’s weed-filled garden, glaring at each other.

 

Sam is still. Then a shiny silver blade drops into his palm, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.

“I won’t lie to you, Dean.”

 

He brings it up, the edge catching the light.

“It’s supposed to be for you,” he says softly.

 

 

“Gonna turn me in, Sammy?” Dean whispers.

 

“ _No.”_

Sam steps forward, turning his palms up.

“That’s my whole point, Dean—I came to warn you.”

Dean steps back, watching him.

“What else did they tell you to do?”

 

“Dean—“

“What else?” Dean shouts.

 

 

Sam’s face is impassive.

 

 

“Castiel Remington has to die.”

 

 

 

Castiel whips back, closing his eyes.

 

“ _No_ ,” Dean says immediately.

 

Castiel is frozen, the cold wood hard against his back. He pulls down air, trying not to hyperventilate.

 

“Dean, it might be the only thing that can save you—“

“ _No_ , Sam.”

“You know the orders came for a reason! And I don’t understand why you risked all of this for him, he’s _nothing_ to us—“

A sharp intake of breath and a scuffle, and Castiel imagines Dean’s shoved Sam backward, if his indignant growl is anything to go by.

 

 

“He’s not nothing.”

 

 

Sam is quiet.

 

“Dean. You didn’t.”

 

Castiel holds his breath.

 

“Shut up, Sam.”

 

Dean’s voice is laced with a dangerous simmering fury. But Sam apparently doesn’t hear it, or chooses to ignore it—

“That’s _forbidden_ , do you know what they’ll do to you if they find out? On top of everything else—Dean—“

“Don’t you dare fucking lecture me, Sammy.”

An impatient snarl, a low growl as Sam speaks again.

“You are so—so _impulsive_ sometimes—“

“Yeah, well you’re a fucking soulless bastard, you know that?” Dean shouts. “Because this? This isn’t you. My brother would never agree to murder an innocent human—“

“It was the only thing I could do,” Sam hisses. “Agree or keep rotting away—and I had to find you—I’m doing this for _you_.”

He cuts off, taking a deep, slow breath.

 

“Dean, I—I can’t lose you.”

Raw pain filters through his voice.

 

 

"So I said yes.”

 

Castiel calms himself, and looks around the corner again. He can't see Sam's face, only the tight draw of his shoulders, the blade still in his hand. 

“I had to play along,” Sam whispers. “Anything to get me out so I could come warn you.”

 

Dean doesn’t answer for a long while. He’s staring at the angel across from him, his face unreadable.

 

“Damn.”

 

Then he huffs out a brief laugh, his lips curling into a smile.

“How the tables have turned, huh?”

 

Sam frowns.

“Tables…what?”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a—it’s an expression, dude.”

 

He snorts, bringing a hand to his face.

“Wow. It really has been a long time.”

 

Sam is still, a strange smile spreading across his face. Dean drops his hand, genuine joy in his eyes.

“It’s good to see you."

“You haven’t changed at all,” Sam says back, grinning.

 

He grabs him, pulling him into a tight hug. Dean grips back, closing his eyes.

 

“Glad to know you’re on my side,” he says thickly. Sam shakes his head.

“You trusted me when no one else would.”

He releases him, clearing his throat.

“I’ll always have your back.”

 

 

 

Dean murmurs a reply, but Castiel doesn’t hear it. His blood is starting to hurt in his ears, whiting everything out.

That fucking bastard.

 

 

He storms back to the living room, and Anna is on him immediately.

“Cas, what was that? What is going on?”

Castiel curls his hands into fists, trying to keep his voice even.

“I don’t think we’re safe here.”

“You think we should leave?” She asks.

“Might be a good idea.”

 

Anna's eyes search his face, her expression quickly hardening.

“Shit.”

She’s still holding her gun, but she looks at it fruitlessly.

“And no way to kill these bastards, is there?”

Gabriel is pacing.

“I found that sigil, but who knows if it’ll work—“

“Let’s just _go_ ,” Castiel snarls. “We can argue about it in the car.”

 

He strides towards the door, and nearly has a heart attack when the two flash in again, appearing right in his path. Castiel jerks back, his heart pounding.

Anna snarls, but Dean hastily holds up his hands.

“Wait, please—“

“Get out of the way,” she hisses.

“Listen, we got off on the wrong foot—“

“I’ll say,” Gabriel mutters.

“But I’d like to start over. Okay?”

Dean looks slowly at each of them in turn, as if to see if they’ll allow him to continue. When none of them move, he exhales, dipping his head.

“I’m Dean, and this is my brother, Sam. He’s going to try and be civil. Right?” He asks, glaring at him. The tall one merely looks away.

 

“What is going on?” Anna asks, her voice dangerous.

Dean steps forward.

“Look—I can explain.”

 

But Castiel speaks up, anger pounding in his skull.

“Explain what? How he was sent to kill me?”

 

 

Anna and Gabe whip around, staring at him. Dean’s mouth drops open.

“What?” He breathes.

 

“I heard you outside,” Castiel says, deadly quiet. “Seems like there’s a lot you didn’t tell us.”

He jerks his head towards Sam.

“He’s working for Heaven— _you_ broke the rules—“

He curls his fists, shaking his head slowly.

“And now you’re on the run."

Castiel curls his lip.

"So forgive me if I don't trust a word you say."

 

 

Nobody moves.

 

“I—“

Dean stops, twisting his hands. Castiel scoffs.

“I’ll give you thirty seconds to explain why you’re here,” he mutters. “Or we’re walking out the door.”

 

Dean doesn’t move. He just stares at Castiel, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

Castiel scoffs, turning his back on the angels. Screw this.

He can feel Anna’s eyes on him, but she doesn’t speak, or make any attempt to stop him.

 

“I’m your guardian.”

 

 

 

 

Castiel freezes.

 

 

 

He turns around, but Dean isn’t looking at him.

 

Gabriel stands slowly.

“Care to repeat that?” He whispers.

Dean takes a deep breath.

“I’m your guardian angel, Anna,” he says. “Always have been.”

 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Anna breathes.

 

 

Castiel stares at her in shock.

_Guardian—_

 

Dean quickly rushes to explain.

“I was assigned by Heaven to protect you. I’ve been protecting you your whole life.”

“Now, wait just a damn minute,” Gabe snarls, but Anna is shaking her head, her expression horrified.

“But—but why? Why would I have a guardian, I’m not—“

She stops, her words lost.

 

Sam speaks up, his voice crisp.

“Any human who has a hand in destiny and will affect the course of the world is assigned a guardian," he says flatly. "The order comes from Heaven.”

“Excuse me?” Gabriel asks, his voice incredulous. Anna is still in shock, watching everything mutely.

“Course of the _world_? And what exactly is that?” Gabe continues.

“I don’t know,” Dean mutters.

“No more lies—"

“No—I don’t, really," Dean says quickly, almost pleading. "We’re not very high up on the totem pole. We’re sent to watch and protect. Information comes later.”

Anna finally finds her voice.

“So you’ve—you’ve been watching me?”

Dean hesitates. He darts his eyes up at Castiel, then looks away.

“No. I—only when your life was in danger. We’re connected. I can feel when your life is threatened and I can intervene. Didn’t you ever wonder? All those close calls?”

 

Anna's eyes drop to the floor. Castiel can see her mind whirling, and he remembers too, all those times they had laughed about it, how she always seemed to escape by the skin of her teeth—but thinking about it now—

Dean is still talking.

"All to ensure that you would be saved, that you would…”

He stops abruptly, and Gabriel narrows his eyes.

“What?” 

 

Anna is trembling. Dean doesn’t answer.

“Dean…”

It’s the first time the quiet and haughty angel has looked at him in a while.

“Sam,” Dean snaps, a warning.

Sam throws up his hands and disappears. Castiel's control on his anger snaps.

 

“Start talking.”

Dean looks up at him sharply.

“You lied to us,” Castiel seethes. “And apparently threw us into the path of something even more fucked up, so I think we deserve answers.”

Dean wrings his hands, avoiding his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Cas, I—“ He swallows. “I just can’t tell you everything right now.”

“Then get out,” Castiel snaps.

“But the others—“

“I think we’ll take our chances alone,” he snarls. He places a steadying hand against the wall, drawing in deep breaths. He’s doing all he can to resist the urge to punch him.

“Why did you fucking do it in the first place?” He whispers.

 

Dean doesn’t have to ask him to clarify. He looks between the three of them. He doesn’t say a word.

Castiel straightens. His temper has evened out, and when he speaks, his voice is flat.

“I’m gathering that I’m not exactly supposed to help save the world.”

“Cas…”

“Why did you raise me from Hell?” He asks quietly.

 

Dean doesn’t answer. The silence stretches, but none of them speak.

 

“I…”

 

He stops, looking down at his feet.

“I couldn’t leave you there,” he confesses shakily. “I saw what it was doing to you, Anna—“

Dean reaches towards her, but she backs away. He stops abruptly.

 

 

“To—to see someone you love die is a terrible thing,” he whispers.

“Unbearable.”

 

 

 

 

Castiel clenches his fists.

“Get out,” he hisses.

 

Dean flinches. Castiel slowly steps forward.

“Or we’ll try that angel banishing sigil that we found in Gabriel’s books.”

Gabriel shoots him a glance, but Castiel is fixated on Dean.

“Get _out_ ,” he seethes.

 

Dean is motionless. He looks around at all three of them.

He disappears without another word.

 

 

 

Castiel exhales harshly. Anna glares at him.

“Cas. What—“

But Castiel doesn’t let her finish. He’s down the hall and outside before he knows it, his heartbeat loud and thick in his ears.

He jams his hands in his pockets, finding his keys.

He just needs to _drive._

 

Castiel yanks open the door and starts the engine, barely thinking. He presses down on the accelerator, Anna’s voice following him into the black night.

 

 

xxx

 

 

 

“She’s coming today.”

“I know.”

 

Castiel can’t help but be short with him. He knows the sharp cut to his words would earn him a harsh punishment any other time, but because it’s today, his father chooses to ignore it. He merely sits next to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Castiel wants to throw it off.

 

He’s nine years old. He doesn’t know how to hide his anger yet. He lets it bleed out without check, the way only a child can.

 

“We’ll greet her outside,” his father says softly. That hand moves up and down his back, in what he thinks is a soothing gesture.

“Mom wouldn’t have done that,” Castiel mutters.

 

The hand drops.

 

It’s unfair. Completely unfair. One, because Castiel hadn’t known her well enough to predict what she would have done, not really—and two, because it only reminded them of the empty hole in their family—the hole that had been eating away at them for the past five years.

A hole that apparently his father thought could be filled with this _girl._

Anna.

 

 

 

Castiel had raged when he found out. Had screamed and cried. Had ran away in the dark of night, until finally his father had come after him with a flashlight, finding him crouched and crying in the forest, in the dark. Alone.

Because they didn’t talk about it.

 

They had never talked about it—the time his father disappeared, after she died. When he up and abandoned the church, the parish, but yes, also his _family_ —because he had one of those, didn’t he—because even with a dead wife, he still had a four-year-old son that needed him.

 

But apparently his father didn’t care.

He left.

 

And evidently found some comfort along the way.

Comfort in the form of some nameless woman, someone Castiel had never bothered to ask about—who ended up dying after giving birth to a Remington bastard—now on her way to intrude upon their family and destroy their lives.

 

He had thought him dead, the time he was gone. Four years old, and Castiel already thought himself an orphan—losing both of his parents in one swift stroke.

Joshua kept much of it going as well as he could, but without a priest, the crowds of people that had once flocked to their doors thinned and melted away. Until there was no one left.

Just the preacher’s son, and the man whose only job had been to trim the hedges.

 

 

Joshua took it upon himself to care for the child. He fed Castiel, he provided for him, the best he could from the meager stores his father had left. But the truth was…they had almost nothing. Only the garden outside, and each other’s company. And memories. Of hunts gone wrong and gone askew, his parents patching up wounds, hushing soft words of comfort to each other before they came into his room to wish Castiel good night.

He doesn’t remember it much himself. Only what they had told him. That as he got older, she had gone back to it, accompanying her husband on a few simple hunts.

But she could never bear to be away from Castiel for too long, always returning to him, if just to tuck him into bed.

 

_Sleep now, Castiel._

A hand stroking his face, twirling into the baby-fine hair on his neck…

 

_Cas._

Her voice is soft, like sunlight, arms cradling him into her warmth.

 

_Angels are watching over you._

Castiel curls his hands around the bench beneath him, breathing hard.

His father has crept away silently, like a ghost.

That’s all he was anymore.

 

Castiel is left alone, in front of the Virgin Mary, her blank face supposedly calm and offering peace.

He sees only indifference.

 

He retreats back to his room, checking the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes.

 

He slowly kneels down and pulls out the drawer beside his bed, concentrating on keeping his breath even. He hesitantly picks up the box of chocolates, staring at the bright gold color of its packaging, of the blatant cheerfulness it was supposed to exude.

He had saved up his money all month to buy this, but now, looking down at it—he finds it inadequate. Fake.

He rips the cover off and chooses a couple of the smaller wrapped candies, shoving them into his pocket, not stopping to care when his fingers come away sticky. He barely has time to toss the box back under his bed before his father is at the door, coming to claim him again.

 

He digs his hand in his jeans, fumbling with the wrappers as they step out of the car, the woman and the small girl approaching them.

Castiel barely hears them as they exchange the pleasantries. He can only stare at the shivering girl, hiding behind the social worker’s legs.

 

Her hair is red. Red and wild, wilder than he’s ever seen, knees scabbed and skinny.

Her eyes pierce into Castiel’s very soul.

They’re darting everywhere, frightened and wide, hardening as their father steps forward and greets her for the first time, murmuring some false condolences about her…her step-father. Right.

Even if she hadn’t known at the time, this was still all his fault. The man posing as her father whose death had led them to discover that her name wasn’t Anna Milton, but Remington, and that she had another family to be carted off to.

 

No.

Castiel breathes deep.

Stop.

 

The woman in the suit pulls his father aside and starts muttering something about legalities, but Castiel tunes them out, trying to calm his fear.

He kneels down, but she backs away, eyeing him warily.

“My name’s Castiel,” he says quietly, pulling out one of the chocolates and holding it out to her.

 

 _Castiel,_ the wind whispers.

 

She looks at him for a moment, but then extends an upturned palm, allowing him to drop it there. She still doesn’t say a word.

“Looks like I’m your new brother,” he mumbles, those big wide eyes finding his again. The silence stretches between them, the dull buzz of adult voices droning on in the background. Castiel bites his lip.

His gaze drops, finding the scuffed edges of her tiny sneakers.

 

“You like cherries?”

Those old eyes look up, finding his, and she stares for a long moment.

But finally, she nods, the anxiety on her face slowly replaced by the beginnings of a smile. Castiel can almost imagine her fear flying away, a black cloud lifting up and melting into nothing.

 

“There’s a tree out back, it’s great for climbing.”

 

He holds out his hand, a solid invitation.

“Wanna come?”

 

It seems like ages before her tiny hand finds his, and Castiel smiles at her, squeezing in reassurance. She dips her head solemnly, and they fly away, away from them, away from it all.

And when they tumble inside hours later, covered in dirt and exhausted, Castiel can’t remember why he ever doubted this. They smile and tease—laughing as Castiel shows her the best hiding spots, his room, all his favorite statues dotted throughout the church. Everything they would come to love and share.

 

“Cas—here.”

Castiel looks down at the offered cherry, her small fingernails stained red and her smile wide.

He takes it, moving in closer to her, and she settles under the crook of his arm, smiling against his skin.

 

Lying under that same tree months later, he looks up to the sky, taking her hand.

 

 _I’ve found home, Mom,_ he whispers.

_I’ve found it in her._

xxx

 

 

Is it possible?

 

Is it possible to love someone, without ever speaking a word to them?

Is it possible—for an angel to love all the stars in the sky, love his Father, love all of His creations—

And is it possible for him to love one human—one tiny, insignificant soul—more than all the rest put together?

 

Dean would never have believed it before. Especially during those first years.

He had been so young, so naïve. He had known nothing of the humans—not really. All he knew was what the other angels told him. That humanity was incessant, the same. Boring.

But oh. Oh.

They must have been seeing something different.

 

 

Because the first time he cast his eyes from the Heavens, down to the world below, Dean was lost.

 

It was _wonderful_ —Earth, humanity, learning all about them. They were so different—with their music, their language, their sex—and all those _emotions_ —love and hate and anger and desperation.

They were flawed, yes, but they were also full of hope. They felt everything too strongly, cared too deeply, loved too intensely. And all that raw feeling spilled out of them in dazzling ways—in art, in song, in shouted hate, in perfect tears.

They were beautiful.

 

Dean spent as much time as he could away from his charge, from his brothers and sisters, happy just to watch, to observe, to take in all he had missed while he was in the world above. He watched their movies, and he listened to their songs. He darted around the world, learning and seeing, and he felt himself realizing, finally understanding why his Father called them his most beloved creations.

 

But sometimes, he envied them.

That he couldn’t carry on a conversation the way they did. That he would never feel a lover’s lips pressed against his own. That he would never feel the arms of a mother wrapped around him.

But mostly he found himself content to just follow, sitting and listening. If he couldn’t participate, learning and watching was his consolation.

He understood and did not argue. It was God’s law—and he had resigned himself to his fate, a life of isolation and of solitude. He would never speak to them the way he wished. Dean had come to accept it.

 

But then—

There he was.

 

_Is it possible?_

Dean saw him.

 

Everything Dean had known, everything he had seen before—

All paled in comparison.

 

 

He didn’t realize it at first.

 

But as the years went on, and they both grew, turned into beautiful bright souls, finally, Dean realized.

Realized that more often than not, he found himself with the brother, and not the sister. That Dean spent his days following that dark head of hair, standing by his side, content to just watch, to listen and learn him.

 

Dean was with Castiel when he was twelve, when he broke his arm, his kind face twisted in pain.

Dean was with Castiel when he taught Anna to ride a bike, watched as they laughed, as he helped her up and bandaged her scraped knees.

Dean was with Castiel during his first kiss, and he burned with jealousy, seeing the girl’s simpering smile as their lips parted—but Dean triumphed when he flushed with embarrassment and refused to return her calls.

Dean was with Castiel when he heard of his father’s death.

Dean was with Castiel when he told them he was dropping out, when he was trying to hide the pain and boiling anger that he could sense crawling under his skin, threatening to burn them all down.

Dean was there when he stood at the grave of his parents, grief clutched tight in his hands.

 

That was the one time he had weakened. When Dean had been on the verge of reaching out, wanting to touch him, smooth away the worry lines on Castiel's brow—but he remembered himself just in time. It wasn’t allowed.

But he ached. Oh, how he ached. To talk to Castiel, just be with him, to hear him say his name. Dean had so many questions—whether he preferred the stars or the sun, why the smell of roses reminded him of his mother, why he kept waking up in the middle of the night, and if he sometimes wished for someone to hold him, when the loneliness broke through, showed on his face—despite all his attempts to keep it hidden.

 

_Is it possible?_

When Anna boarded that train, her tiny hand clasped in the social worker’s, Dean hadn’t known. His whole existence had changed, he just hadn’t known it yet.

 

They walked up the skinny gravel path, where the two dark figures stood, waiting. The man spread his arms, the black of his clothes jutting sharply against the ashen tone of the church behind him.

“Welcome, Anna.” His smile was wide. “Welcome to your new home.”

He swept her into his arms, and she had been stiff.

Dean watched with concerned eyes, hoping that this new life would bring her happiness. He had saved her too many times in her short five years.

Then the man moved aside, and Dean caught a glimpse of those eyes for the first time, so old for one so young—

 

The world stopped.

 

 

Blue.

Blue, the brightest blue he’s ever seen, that perfect shade Dean would come to memorize, down to every last whorl and facet in those perfect eyes.

Just nothing but blue.

 

 

The adults talked, and Dean saw him kneel down, speaking softly.

 _My name’s Castiel,_ he said, pulling out a piece of chocolate and handing it to her.

 

Castiel, Dean whispered, rolling the name around his mouth.

 

_Looks like I’m your new brother._

Anna took the candy wordlessly, the suspicion still etched on her face.

_You like cherries?_

Dean inhaled softly, watching them.

She looked up with wide eyes, before nodding softly.

_There’s a tree out back, it’s great for climbing. Wanna come?_

More nods.

And they ran off, hand in hand, Anna’s face splitting out into a timid smile.

Dean ran after them, breathless.

 

 

_Is it possible?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: hell, violence, injury

There’s a boy standing on a dusty road. He’s got a shotgun in his hand, his mother’s broken rosary around his neck, and his lip is cut open, split and dripping.

He glances over his shoulder, and curses.

He starts running.

“Shit,” he says again, picking up speed. “ _Shit_.”

 

 

A roar—and a pair of headlights flood onto the road, careening around the corner. The boy skids to a halt, panting. The pickup barely slows as it passes him, but he’s got practice at this—he grabs hold to the side and vaults into the back—the engine roars, and then they’re off, kicking up dust behind them. His kid sister’s hunched in the corner, holding her elbow and breathing hard.

“What the hell happened?” Castiel yells, scrambling over to her.

“Watch the attitude, boy," he snarls.

Dad turns the wheel sharply.

“Wasn’t just a loner,” he says shortly, not looking from the road. “Turns out there was a whole nest. You’re lucky we got out alive.”

Castiel bites back his bitter retort, instead pulling Anna towards him. She growls in protest as he checks her over, but he finally lets out a relieved sigh, settling back. Just banged up. Fine.

She yanks her arm back from his grip, scowling. Castiel shivers against the cold metal on his back, trying to slow his breathing.

 

“Damndest thing.”

 

His father has pulled the car to a stop, and he’s completely still behind the wheel.

“Something scared ‘em off. They ran like dogs.”

 

 

 _It was the angel,_  Castiel says. 

But his voice doesn’t work.

 

Anna is staring at him.

They’re idling on the dark road, just miles from the nest. Castiel stills.

 

No…this isn’t right. They had sped back to the church, his father drove all night—and he and Anna had woken up to the sunrise, Dad roughly shaking them awake…

“I think you know, Castiel,” his father whispers. Castiel tenses.

He's silent—head turning eerily to look back at him.

“You thought you were safe?” he hisses under his breath.

His eyes are white.

 

Castiel tries to bolt, but the demon crashes through the glass, grabbing the both of them. Castiel yells, kicking, lashing out—but the demon just laughs, striking him across the face.

Everything explodes in black hot pain, and Castiel can’t breathe, the demon is tearing into him, blood on his hands, teeth, tongue _—_ and Anna is screaming, she’s dying and Castiel’s vision is fading, his own heart killing him as he bleeds onto the dusty road, begging please no,  _please, please, no—_

 

 

He jerks awake.

 

 

He gasps down air, heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

Once he realizes where he is, he kicks the blankets off him, sliding to the floor, covered in sweat. Castiel swallows, over and over, trying to get rid of the feeling of knives and blood in his throat.

He presses his hands to his face, shaking.

 

 

Two days on the road.

 

 

He had driven as far as he could before the highway started to blur in front of him—he’s not even sure what state he’s in—but he just had to get away.

He runs his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath in.

 

His phone starts buzzing again, but Castiel ignores it.

He knows he’s got five missed calls from Anna, two from Gabe, and at least a dozen texts, but he stay motionless until it stops, and the screen dims, throwing the room back into darkness.

 

Castiel buries his face in his arms, letting out a slow breath.

If he's being honest with himself, he's being downright stupid—Anna's gonna kick his ass the minute he returns to the church—

But he's too afraid.

Afraid of their situation, afraid of himself—afraid of what he might do. His grip on his control feels so thin, so tight that it might snap any moment. And Castiel isn't really sure what will happen when it does.

Because he can still feel it. Something sitting in the back of his mind, like a grim reminder. He had tried to brush it off as memories of Hell, but he’s starting to think it’s something darker. Deeper—quietly waiting, biding its time, sending its black roots down into his soul—until it consumes him and he won’t be able to separate it from himself.

 

 

Castiel wrenches himself up, grabbing his gun from the desk of the motel he’s checked into for the night. 

And it's all that bastard's fault.

 

Castiel’s fucking happy to be alive, don’t get him wrong—but finding out the angel that dragged him out of Hell did so apparently  _just because he fucking felt like it,_  and had now unleashed the entire wrath of Heaven down upon them—

Well. That isn’t exactly a plus.

 

Castiel's hands shake as he starts to load his gun. He pulls the release and tosses the empty magazine aside, calming slightly as he goes through the familiar process. But then he remembers the look on Dean's face, and his anger flares again.

Just when he was starting to trust him. God, he had been so stupid. Even after everything, time and again—he still never seemed to learn. You can’t fucking trust anyone.

 

And now Heaven wants Anna.

 

 

 

Castiel desperately doesn’t want to believe Dean. Desperately wants to pretend it was a lie, that for some reason the angel cooked up this bullshit story to excuse his own messy actions, and that they're in no more danger than they usually are. It’s not like they haven’t been involved in their share of shitty situations, but this is big. Apparently 'fate of the world' big.

 

Castiel bites his lip. He thinks maybe things would have been better if Dean had just left him there.

 

 

 

Castiel tucks his gun away and shrugs on his jacket, pulling out his keys. He kicks the door closed, turning his collar up against the night's chill. A drink will do him good.

 

He barely makes it three steps before he hears a rush of wind behind him, a heavy hand falling on his shoulder.

“Castiel.”

 

 

He tries to go for his gun—but suddenly they’re sinking, and the world goes black.

 

 

 

 

They slam into the ground, and the grip holding him is released. Castiel stumbles, his head swimming.

“I found him,” the same curt voice says, somewhere to his left.

 

Castiel scrambles back, darting his eyes around the room. A dark office building, cubicles shadowed and stark.

And three people, all dressed in crisp suits.

 

 

 

“You’re him,” the woman in the middle says. “The human.”

She sounds surprised.

 

 

Castiel stands slowly, eyeing them all.

“Yeah? Who the hell are you?”

Her eyes narrow.

“That is not important,” she says coolly. "Now."

She steps forward, clasping her hands behind her back.

 

“Where is Anna Remington?”

 

Castiel stiffens.

“Why?” he snaps. “What the hell do you want with her?”

The two standing behind the woman exchange looks, but she herself remains silent. She shakes the long blonde hair from her face, smiling prettily. Castiel’s skin crawls.

“That doesn’t concern you," she replies.

Castiel grips the hilt of his knife, clenching his jaw.

“I’m her brother,” he says sharply.  “So, yeah. I’d say it does.”

She doesn’t respond, that serene smile unfazed. Castiel’s instincts are screaming at him to run, but he holds his ground.

  

“You really don’t understand what you’re dealing with,” the woman says softly. “So, come now, Castiel. Before you do something you regret.”

 

Castiel sneers.

“Go screw yourself.”

 

_Crack._

 

Castiel hits the ground, gasping. He tries to push himself up, but a throb of pain stabs through his arm, and he falls again, cradling his wrist to his chest. It’s broken.

How in the hell—?

She lifts a hand, and with another lazy twirl of the fingers, Castiel is thrown back, hearing something else snap. The laughter of the other two is high and cold, echoing in the dark air around them. Castiel spits blood, his mind fogged with pain.

 

He hears the sharp click of footsteps, a pair of shiny black heels sliding into view.

 

A hand grabs his throat, her voice in his ear.

“Hell certainly twisted your manners, boy.”

 

Then there’s a hand on his chest, and a harsh warmth surging through him. He chokes, gasping as he’s healed.

“That was a warning, Castiel."

She yanks him up, ice blue eyes on his.

“We will find her,” she says. “With or without your help. But believe me. Your defiance will cause you nothing but pain.”

 

Castiel doesn’t move, glaring at her in silence. She tsks softly.

“He threw it all away. For you.” 

She tilts her head, watching him indifferently. 

“What a waste of talent."

 

Castiel breathes hard, trying to push against the angel’s power, because yes, it had to be an angel—

She strokes his cheek, smiling softly.

“So breakable,” she murmurs.

 

Castiel’s mind races furiously, scanning the room around him, desperately searching for an escape. The two angels behind her are watching impassively, shiny silver blades clutched in their hands. Shit.

“You try my patience.”

The woman grabs Castiel's chin, forcing his eyes on her.

“So I’ll ask, one last time.”

 

Castiel slowly reaches for his knife, not breaking the gaze.

“Where is Anna?”

Castiel curls his lip, getting ready to spring.

“Fuck you," he spits.

 

He pulls his knife and slashes, but he hits nothing but air. He whirls to see her behind him, her lips curled in a snarl. Something slides from her sleeve, but Castiel is too slow.

 

She cuts through his side like red-hot iron, and he crumples, falling to his knees.

Castiel clutches his side, his head reeling.

It’s the most intense pain he’s felt since Hell—blood running through his fingers as he gasps for breath, weakly struggling backward.

The two angels come to stand behind her, watching him, emotionless.

 

“We tried to play nice, Castiel.”

Her voice drops low.

“Now you'll see how Heaven handles disobedience.”

 

 

The three of them slowly start to walk forward, blades glittering in the light.

Castiel tries to push himself up, but his vision is clouding.

They loom above him, and Castiel shakes his head, praying for a way out.

 

 

 

There’s a sharp whirl of movement, and suddenly he’s there, eyes blazing.

 

The woman pauses, a slight smile crossing her face.

 

“Dean.”

He glares at her.

“Lilith.”

 

Castiel chokes, one hand reaching out, fumbling weakly against the carpet.

 

The angels don’t seem to notice. The woman circles around him, smiling poisonously.

“You’ve been a bad boy, Dean. A  _very_  bad boy.”

He snarls, but he doesn’t sacrifice his position. She lets out a tinkling laugh.

“But of course. Still predictable as ever.”

She smirks, glancing towards Castiel.

“It’s the only reason we bothered with this worthless human,” she sneers, eyes glinting.

 

Dean is between them in a heartbeat.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” he hisses.

 

Her smile drops. She brings up her own sharp silver blade—but Dean twists away from her at the last second, knocking her back. The air around him is suddenly filled with a bright light, and Castiel rolls away from it, curling into himself.

There’s power and heat, and he thinks he hears the clash of metal, blades and shouts—

He tries to crawl away from them, gasping weakly. But there’s no stopping the steady drip of blood from his side.

He props himself up on shaking arms, his mind dizzy.

Dean is fighting off the angels, taking on all three of them—his blade flashing in the dim light. It’s an incredible display of power—all four of them huge and terrible as they fight, shaking the building around them.

 

The world tilts and Castiel collapses, his cheek hitting the ground.

 

 

Dean growls and shoves them back, sprinting for Castiel—

 

His hand closes around his wrist and then they’re falling, stumbling across the parking lot of the motel. Castiel sags against him, clinging to his shirt.

Dean pulls him through the door, an arm wrapped tight around his waist.

 

Castiel doesn’t want to seem weak, but he doesn’t have much strength left. He lets Dean carry him, feeling himself sat down on the edge of the bed.

Dean’s face swims into view.

“Cas, hey—”

Those eyes are intense and worried, fixed on his.

"Cas, you hearing me?"

Castiel takes a deep breath, and the wound in his side stings with pain. He bites down, hissing. Dean’s mouth tightens.

He kneels before him, hands fumbling at Castiel’s shirt. They come away red.

“Shit,” he breathes.

 

He starts to pull up his shirt further, but Castiel slaps his hands away, glaring at him.

“What are you doing?”

Dean stares at him.

“What?”

“Why did you come?”

 

Castiel clumsily pushes away from him and stands, even though it sends a wracking pain through his side.

“I don’t need your help,” he chokes out.

Dean stands too, authority ringing through his voice.

“Sit down.”

“No.”

 

Castiel shakily straightens, starting towards the door—but his legs give out, the floor rushing up to meet him.

Dean catches him just in time, hiking him up in his arms.

“You stubborn asshole—“

 

He pulls Castiel back and plops him down on the bed. Castiel tries to protest—but his vision fades and his gut twists, making him double over. He seizes the bedspread, gasping.

 

“ _Hey_ —“

Dean’s hands find his face, his voice frantic.

“Cas? Cas!”

Castiel weakly shoves him away.

“’M fine,” he slurs.

“Dammit—“

The next thing Castiel knows, Dean is stripping his jacket and then his own shirt—ripping the black cloth in half and pressing it against his wound. The pressure zings through him and Castiel inhales sharply, grabbing Dean’s shoulder.

He stills, shooting a panicked look up at Castiel’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

Castiel shakes his head, tightening his grip slightly. He’s just trying not to pass out.

 

“Can I help?” Dean whispers.

 

Castiel stares at him for a moment, but then looks away, giving the barest hint of a nod. Dean sighs shakily, scooting closer.

 

He works with quick, gentle touches, trying to clean him up as best he can. He doesn’t try to peel off the bloodstained cloth, but instead, rolls it up slightly, his hand steady on his back.

Castiel’s mind clears slightly, his death grip on Dean’s shoulder relaxing—and he’s suddenly conscious of the closeness, his heat—that they’re sharing the same air, soaked in blood and sweat and adrenaline. His pulse quickens and he gives an involuntary little jerk away from him.

“Don’t move,” Dean orders.

Castiel stiffens. Dean sees his reaction and quickly softens.

“I—sorry.”

He puts a gentle pressure on his side, looking up at him.

“This…this’ll need stitches.”

Castiel looks away.

“In my bag,” he says shortly.

 

Dean exhales.

“Hold that.”

 

Castiel obeys automatically, one hand pressing Dean’s shirt to his side, trying not to move too much as Dean sifts through his pack to find his med kit, because every time he does, it sends a stabbing pain through his side. That Lilith hadn’t been playing around.

 

Dean comes back, setting the kit beside him. He gently prises Castiel’s hands from his side, getting a closer look at the wound. They’ve managed to soak up most of the blood, but once Dean sees the extent of his injuries, he curses under his breath.

“Goddamn it, Cas.”

Castiel glares at him, but Dean is focused on his side, barely masking his frustration.

“Stupid to be out there alone,” he says angrily, threading the needle. “What if you had died—“

“Well, that would have solved all your problems, wouldn’t it?” Castiel snaps.

 

Beside him, Dean stills.

“What?”

“Your good brother seemed to think so,” Castiel sneers. “‘Throw him back in hell,’ I believe, was the direct quote.”

 

There’s no response from the angel to his right.

Castiel blows out his breath, turning away. There’s a black fog at the corners of his vision, and it’s threatening to spread, but he beats it back. Focusing on the rhythm helps.

In. Out. Breathe.

 

“I don’t want you dead,” Dean says quietly.

Castiel huffs.

“Yeah, well.” He turns away. “Me neither.”

 

They fall silent.

Castiel avoids his eyes, but glares down at the needle in Dean’s hands.

“Well?”

 

 

He turns his head as it enters his skin. Dean glances up anxiously.

“Sorry,” he breathes again.

 

 

The sharp tug of pain in his side helps him a little, and Castiel manages to find his voice.

“So.”

 

He tilts his head back, glaring at the ceiling.

“Does this mean you’re actually going to give me some answers?”

 

 

Dean is quiet. Castiel doesn’t try to keep back his laugh.

Of course not.

 

 

 

But then he speaks.

“What do you want to know?” Dean asks quietly.

 

Castiel bites the inside of his cheek.  _Where to fucking start—_

“How did they find me? The angels.” He feels a twist of panic. “And now—won’t they—won’t they come back?”

Dean jerks his head briefly to indicate the wall behind him. Castiel glances over, seeing the sigil marked there, in something that looks horribly like blood.

“Little bit of angel proofing,” Dean says. “Not the best, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

He hesitates.

“And finding humans isn’t exactly…difficult.”

“Wonderful,” Castiel mutters.

“But I hid the church. Warded it and myself,” Dean continues. “They couldn’t find me, or Anna, so they…looked around for the next best thing.”

He pulls another clumsy stitch, his hands trembling slightly.

“Once I saw you weren’t there, I, uh…”

Dean steels himself.

“I knew it wouldn’t be long before they went after you,” he says grimly.

 

Castiel doesn’t move. He just stares at the wall, his blood pounding dully in his ears.

 

 

“Which is my fault,” Dean says eventually. “I disobeyed.”

He pulls another stitch.

“Breaking the rules, it’s…” He sighs. “It’s the worst possible thing for an angel. And when I pulled you out, I went against a direct order.”

“Putting us all in danger.”

Dean avoids his eyes.

“I didn’t think they’d go for you.”

Castiel looks away. Dean’s voice takes on a pleading tone.

“I’m sorry. Cas. Really.”

Castiel doesn’t answer him.

He just stares unblinking at the wall.

 

“So,” he mutters, his voice cracking. “I deserve to be in Hell.”

Dean looks up sharply.

“No, Cas—“

“Yes, I do.”

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, letting out a sour laugh.

“Apparently, God and Heaven don’t want me alive after all.”

“Hey. Listen to me.”

 

Dean grabs his arm, staring at him. Castiel squirms, wants to shy away from those eyes, but Dean’s grip is firm.

“Superiors are one thing, but don’t—don’t for one  _second_  believe that God wanted that for you.”

Castiel tries to look away.

“You can’t know that—“

“No one’s even seen him for centuries.”

 

Dean’s eyes cloud over with a pain Castiel knows, a pain that only comes from the loss of a father.

“We’re mostly operating on faith,” he whispers. “Which we’re killed if we don’t have.”

Castiel swallows, looking down.

“Jesus.”

 

There’s no anger anymore. Only pity.

 

“Are they gonna kill you?” He asks eventually.

Dean swallows. He turns back to the stitches, his fingers shaking a little.

“Probably.”

 

Castiel holds his breath. Dean sees the look and tries to smile, his voice light.

"Hey, don’t worry about it. I was getting a little tired of the monkey dance, anyway."

 

Castiel doesn't smile back. He can’t help but feel there’s something Dean’s not telling him.

 

 

Dean continues to work at his side, his touch soft and light. Castiel tries again.

“So all of this…you risked it for Anna?”

Dean’s fingers tighten involuntarily, and Castiel looks up, frowning. Dean's face is a storm of emotions Castiel can’t quite make out.

“I guess,” he finally murmurs.

Castiel swallows the lump in his throat, trying not to think.

“Why are you her guardian?”

Dean glances up, but quickly looks down again.

“There’s, uh…a—fight coming,” he murmurs hesitantly. “Not too far off from saving the world, really.”

Castiel misses the anxious glance Dean gives him after that. He’s too busy puzzling over his words.

“That’s why I was assigned,” he says. “To protect her. So she’d be safe until it was time.”

“Time for what?”

Dean’s fingers still. 

 

He takes a deep breath.

"Y’know how I said that—um…angels need permission? For vessels, I mean."

Castiel narrows his eyes.

"Yes."

"Well. Just any old vessel won't do. There are certain bloodlines."

Castiel's breath catches in his throat. No.

But Dean is continuing.

"So, this fight…think of it as a war. Generals, soldiers, they all need bodies to inhabit. Anna’s one of them."

 

"NO."

 

"Cas—"

"She's going to be possessed? By an angel?" He hisses. "Are you insane?"

"Cas, listen—"

"No," Castiel says firmly, trying to stand. " _No_."

"Stop—"

"Fuck you," Castiel snarls.

"Look—"

Dean shoves him back to the bed, a forearm on his chest.

"Yell at me all you want, but don't friggin' move. You're bleeding all over me, dude."

Castiel glares at him, but he stops, clenching his hands together.

 

"It's not gonna hurt her," Dean says furtively, looking at Castiel. "I'd never agree to it if it did. Just think of it as—as, uh…borrowing."

Castiel snarls up at him.

"Who's the angel?"

"Don’t know."

"Bullshit—"

"No, I swear, I don't know—but they told she'll be unharmed at the end of it."

"The same superiors that just tried to kill me?"

 

Dean is silent.

Castiel wants to retch. A host for an angel. Like some sort of twisted puppet.

"And what if she gets killed?" He asks bitterly.

"She won’t."

"How do you—"

"I will never let anything happen to her."

Castiel glares, wondering if he’s lying again. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

"In a war, you can't promise anyone's safety," he mutters. "I know that for a fact."

Dean gets a faraway look in his eyes.

"That’s true," he murmurs softly.

 

 

They're frozen for a moment, as if Dean isn't sure if Castiel will let him continue. But eventually he kneels before him again, starting to finish up the stitches. They fall back into a loaded silence, Dean working dutifully at Castiel's side.

 

 

Castiel closes his eyes, trying to process. The more he sees of angels, the more he hates them. He can't imagine the one who's supposed to possess Anna would be any different. But she doesn't have to say yes. They can fight this.

He turns his head, watching Dean, trying to ignore the gentle tugging sensation in his side. Castiel realizes, suddenly, inexplicably, that he believes him. 

 

 

“What about your…powers?" He asks, putting a slight edge to his voice. "Can’t you just heal me?” 

The angel before had managed it. He had never seen Dean do it, but he assumes they all have the same abilities.

Dean had pulled him out of Hell, for Christ’s sake.

Dean doesn’t respond, and Castiel sneaks a glance at him. His face is twisted in concentration as he continues the stitches, but there’s a sadness there too. Castiel’s stomach flips.

 

Dean is silent as he works with the needle, and Castiel finally gets a good look at him. Dean's skin is covered in thin lines, slightly darker than his natural tone—golden brown sigils and crests, whirling over his arms and back in fine patterns. Castiel vaguely recognizes some of them.

He wants to reach out and touch.

The snap of the scissors brings Castiel back, and Dean moves away as he grabs some tape. Castiel focuses on breathing again.

“I—I can heal people. Usually.”

 

His voice surprises Castiel. He hadn’t expected him to answer, but Dean sounds so agonized that Castiel aches.

Dean comes back, tape in hand, and starts winding the extra scraps of black cloth around Castiel’s torso. He shivers as Dean’s hands move over his skin, whisper soft.

“But ever since—well…since I…rebelled—“

Castiel bites his lip.

“My mojo’s…gone down the tubes, to put it nicely.”

 Dean sighs, wiping his forehead.

“Some things I can do, some things I can’t. Since I’m cut off from Heaven. I mean, I could fix you if I was at full strength—”

His hand slips, and Castiel hisses as another jolt of pain runs through him.

“Fuck—sorry—“

“It’s…it’s okay.”

Castiel laughs shortly.

“I’ve had worse.”

Dean puts on the last piece of tape, but he doesn’t move away.

“No, Cas, it’s not okay,” he mutters. “I should be able to heal you, I should have—“

“Dean.” Castiel grabs his wrist. “It’s okay.”

 

 

Dean stares at him, and Castiel swallows. He quickly lets go and crawls back toward the headboard, leaning against the pillows.

Dean is still for a moment, but then starts to pick up the extra strips of bloody black cloth, his face drawn.

“I tried to call Sam,” he murmurs, and Castiel’s not sure if he’s meant to hear him.

“He didn’t answer.”

 

 

He stands quietly, walking over to the dirty sink. Castiel hears the water run as Dean rinses the red down the drain. He closes his eyes, turning to the pillow, breathing against the cotton. His head is still reeling. Castiel feels almost drunk, the sharp pain in his side blurring the world.

And Dean. Shit.

Castiel wants to hate him. He had been determined to hate him for the rest of his soon-to-be short life, but now—watching him as he shuffles around the dingy motel room—Castiel finds he can’t.

Because Dean had saved him. Again.

_Why?_

He sits up. Dean’s still at the sink, back turned to him.

Castiel can see the full expanse of the marks now. They cover Dean’s entire back, running up his arms and even spreading to his neck. Castiel trails his eyes down, to where they disappear, hidden beneath the top of Dean's jeans. Castiel vaguely wonders what runes Dean might have under them.

He coughs, shifting slightly on the bed and dragging his eyes away.

 

 

“What are those marks?” Castiel asks, after a moment. He tries to sound casual and disinterested, but he’s not really sure he succeeds.

“Are they tattoos?”

The water shuts off, and Dean glances over his shoulder, squeezing out the water from the cloth.

“Tattoos?” He snorts. “As if. My vessel wasn’t cool enough for that.”

Castiel thinks it’s the first time he’s seen Dean smile since they’ve entered the motel. Seeing that small crook of lips made him feel ridiculously lightheaded.

“They’re sigils. Enochian mostly.”

 

Dean leaves the cloth in the sink, wiping his dripping hands on his jeans. He walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, bringing his arm up to the light.

“This one shields me from other angels,” he says, running a hand over his forearm and up to his shoulder. “And the ones on my back—“ He turns, showing Castiel. “—They’re mostly for protection and warding from various crap.”

He laughs, shrugging.

“It’s kinda complicated. Dunno if it’s that interesting.”

Castiel gingerly shifts forward, trying not to put pressure on his side.

“No—I get it. Protective sigils.”

He thinks he understands, because he has his own protection in place. The tattoo on his back that matches Anna’s—the one that keeps the demons out of his skin.

Dean nods, but suddenly frowns, biting his lip.

“Sorry about this.”

 

He places a hand on Castiel’s chest, and before he can even register the fact that Dean is touching him, a digging pain stings through his core—throbbing, but dull, all at once. Castiel falls back, gasping.

“What the hell—“

“Protective sigils,” Dean echoes. “To shield you.” He draws his hand back, smiling apologetically. “Angels won’t be able to hear or see you now. Should’ve done it earlier.”

Castiel looks down at his skin, but he can’t see anything. He looks back up, confused.

“Carved them onto your ribs,” Dean explains, something in his voice humorous, desperate to keep it light. “I could have done that to me too, but I think this looks cooler.” He smirks.

“Don’t you?” He teases, his eyes twinkling.

 

Castiel doesn't answer. He sees a smudge of blood on Dean's shoulder, probably from when Castiel was freaking out on him—and feels the strangest twinge of guilt. He reaches out, wiping it away with a brush of his thumb.

Dean tenses, and Castiel hastily withdraws his hand.

“I’m sorry—“

“No, it’s fine—“ Dean says, maybe a little too quickly. “Just surprised me, is all.”

"Sorry," Castiel blurts. "For, um. Bleeding on you."

Dean gives a quiet little chuckle.

"Hey, I was at the plagues. Been covered in a lot worse."

 

He still doesn’t turn around, and Castiel takes that invitation to continue.

He sits up gingerly, conscious of his side, and he runs his fingers over one of the larger patterns, swirling whorls that form some sort of pentagram. Then he traces over the lettering across the spread of Dean’s back, following to where it runs down his arm. Dean straightens a little.

Castiel recognizes some of the characters, remembering them from the books in Gabriel’s study. That there was an A, he thinks, and perhaps a T.

“These letters…”

Castiel’s hands brush over his side and Dean jumps. He snatches his fingers back.

“Sorry.” Dean swallows. “Ticklish.”

Castiel doesn’t dare touch him again, but he doesn’t want to move away.

“They spell anything?” He asks softly, breath washing over the back of his neck.

Dean turns, seeing his closeness, and he stills, words tripping over his tongue.

“Uh…ye—yeah.”

 

Dean is close, so close, and Cas wants to fall forward and breathe him in, but he can’t tear his gaze from Dean’s beautiful green eyes. Green like the grass, green like the color of autumn, right before it turns red and gold—a blush of mint turning towards the forest.

“Um…Spells, names…the ones I have to protect…” Dean whispers, looking him up and down.

“And my own, because I damn well felt like it,” he chuckles softly, his gaze coming down to settle on Castiel's lips, just staring.

But Castiel doesn’t notice.

 

The one he has to protect…Dean must mean Anna.

 

Castiel comes to his senses, realizing he is way too close to be appropriate, and he quickly backs away. And he knows it’s childish, but he can’t help but the twinge of jealousy, hearing Dean has his sister’s name written in his skin.

Castiel stares at his shoulder and makes a selfish promise to learn the Enochian alphabet.

 

Dean sees Castiel’s glare, and his smile falters.

“Cas?”

Castiel looks away.

“Yes, they’re—they’re very nice.”

 

He hears Dean move closer.

“Those bandages too tight?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“No. They’re fine.” He shifts a little. “But honestly, I’ve had worse injuries than this.”

He feels more solid now, the world a little more defined. He tries to get up.

"We should go back to the church," he mumbles. "Get to Anna—" 

But Dean is there, pushing him back.

“Whoa, whoa, hey. You’re not going anywhere with that wound.”

“But—“

Dean taps his forehead.

“I’m her guardian, dumbass.” He smiles slightly. “I know if she’s in trouble or not.”

Castiel shoots him a look.

"So she's okay now?"

"Yeah."

Castiel exhales, reluctantly relaxing.

"Good."

 

He sits up gingerly, leaning over to tug at the laces on his boots.

“You should check on her, though. She’s more important than I am.”

Castiel is met with only silence. He frowns, chancing a cautious glance over at Dean.

 

His face is cloudy, but he’s no longer looking at Castiel. He’s staring at the floor, his expression dark.

“Do you really think that?” Dean asks quietly.

Castiel looks down.

Of course he does.

 

 

 

He hunts monsters, sure, maybe he saves some lives. But he isn’t anything _special_. Castiel isn’t a hero, even if he tries, even if he desperately wants to be. His sister is the one who is, who's always been the better of the two of them—and now, God—she's  _chosen_ —important enough to have an angel watching over her.

Castiel has never done anything deserving of that. He's never had a relationship that lasted over three months, he never finished high school—he hasn’t fucking done anything of value. He couldn’t even save the lives that mattered, he couldn’t save his family, his mother, his father—

“I—“

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. That’s not a sensation he’s used to feeling.

“I don’t know. Maybe not,“ he lies.

 

He turns back to his laces. He succeeds in removing the first shoe and tosses it over the edge of the bed, huffing out a triumphant breath.

There’s a sudden shift of movement, and Castiel looks up to see Dean staring at him. He’s closer, much closer—he must have crawled right up to him without Castiel noticing. The proximity is not…unpleasant, but still unnerving at the same time.

Dean’s weight is feather-light, and his body barely sinks into the bed as he moves toward Castiel. One hand comes up slowly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

“So much pain,” Dean whispers.

Castiel is frozen. He can't tear his eyes away, can't will his muscles to work. 

That soft hand touches his cheek, and Castiel flinches, barely stifling his gasp.

 

Dean withdraws the hand like he’s been burned.

“I— _sorry_. Did that hurt? I just wanted to check—I didn’t know—“

He stops midsentence and suddenly backs away, his face setting.

“You know what—I’ll—“

Dean jumps up, shrinking away from him.

“I’m going to get us something to eat. And a new shirt.”

He attempts to brush it off again.

“Can’t be walking around like this now, can I?”

 

The words are still echoing around Castiel’s ears as the air in the room swirls, and Dean is gone. Castiel stares at the place the angel’s body had just been, and he exhales slowly, squeezing his eyes shut.

He bites his cheek and rips off his other boot, not even caring as pain shoots through him again. He leans back onto the pillows, closes his eyes, and he tries to relax.

But he can't shut his mind off. His thoughts are a storm, turning over Dean's words, shifting between anger and fear and complete confusion.

Castiel curls a hand into the sheets below him. It has to be the blood loss. He's delirious. He'll get some sleep and it'll all make sense in the morning.

 

 

Dean flashes in only five minutes later, dumping a bag full of grease and some sort of food into his lap.

He doesn’t seem deterred by Castiel’s sudden quietness, and he fills the silence with absent talk. He jokes, he teases Castiel about his own tattoo (“On your back? Really?”) and then he cleans up, telling Castiel to get some rest.

 

“You go to sleep,” he says, pulling back the curtain to check outside. “I’ll stay here. Y’know. Just in case.”

Castiel swallows.

“Oh, okay. Um—“

He hesitates

“You sure?”

Dean shrugs.

“Yeah, whatever.” He rubs his cheek. “Never know if the angels will come back.”

He looks over at the motel’s shelf, where a motley assortment of bad novels is crushed against the wood.

“Looks like I got enough to keep me interested,” he says, smiling faintly.

 

Castiel lies down and pulls the sheets around him, spying Dean settling into the corner, to read and pass the time as he sleeps.

Castiel isn’t really sure what to make of that.

 

 

And for the first time since he's been back, he doesn’t have a nightmare. 

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel bickers with Dean for almost an hour over breakfast, insisting that he’s perfectly capable of driving home.

Dean scowls, but finally relents. He lets Castiel drive them back to the church, once again sliding into shotgun and his typical role of antagonizing Castiel and messing with the radio.

They pull up into the gravel lot, and Castiel sours a little. Dean would probably be leaving now. He’d most likely dip off again, without a word or second glance. The thought makes Castiel irritated.

He blinks.

Oh no.

 

Not being with Dean irritated him.

 

 

He gets jerked back to reality as Anna barges out of the front doors of the church, her long hair flying.

“Where the  _hell_  have you been?”

Castiel pales.

“Oh shit.”

 

She skids to a halt in front of them, furious color blooming on her cheeks.

“You goddamn bastard—“

“Anna—“

“And what are  _you_  doing here?” She spits, turning on Dean. Castiel grabs her arm.

“Red—please. Let me explain.”

Anna growls, then freezes, her eyes widening. Castiel follows her gaze, where his bandages are traitorously visible under the rise of his shirt. He quickly yanks his shirt down, but it’s too late.

She whirls on Dean.

“What did you do?  _What did you do_?”

Dean backs away, his hands raised. He looks terrified. Angel of the Lord, scared by the wrath of an angry sister.

“Why is my brother hurt?” She snarls. She whips out her knife, and Dean balks.

“Jesus—“

He disappears in a rush of air, and Castiel throws up his hands.

“Oh, great. Now you’ve scared him off.”

“Cas, what the  _hell_?”

 

Anna plants her hands on her hips, staring him down. She doesn’t sheathe her knife though. Maybe deciding whether or not to use it on him.

Castiel shakes his head.

“Look, it’s not what you think—“

“We don’t trust angels, Cas. Especially not him.”

“Anna—”

“He lied to us, Cas!” Who knows what else he’s done?”

“He saved me,” Castiel says quietly.

Anna stills.

 

“What?”

 

Castiel sighs, explaining everything, about Lilith, the other angels.

“They gave me this,” he says, pulling back his jacket, indicating the wound in his side. “And Dean…”

Castiel swallows.

“Dean saved me,” he murmurs.

 

Anna mulls over Castiel’s words, her jaw tightening.

“And you didn’t think to fucking call me?”

Castiel winces. He hadn’t even thought about it. Dean had reassured him that Anna was safe, and he hadn’t thought she might be worried about him too.

“Sorry. I—I should have let you know."

“Damn right,” she mutters, but her shoulders relax, and finally sheathes her knife. She pokes an accusing finger at his chest.

“Bed rest. Now.”

Castiel scoffs.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s your punishment for letting me worry my head off. Now go.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know what those sigils look like, take a look at this amazing fanart (which is kinda the whole reason I started this fic in the first place)  
> <http://chevrolangels.tumblr.com/post/115771356517>


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, the first part of this chapter is completely self-indulgent.
> 
> warnings: hell flashbacks, injury, some violence, 
> 
>  
> 
> also, sorry im a scrub with updating.

 

 

“Ow.”

“Stop fidgeting.”

“You’re not exactly being gentle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anna says stiffly, throwing antiseptic on his wound. Castiel jerks up, hissing through his teeth. 

 

He glares at her as she grabs the scissors and sits down beside him. Castiel really wants to be angry at her, but some part of him knows he deserves this. 

Anna had grudgingly forgiven him his freak out, but she's making no effort to hide her irritation. Castiel’s just gonna have to wait her temper out.

 

She snips through his old stitches and starts to pull them out, squinting at his side.

“These are crappy.”

Castiel exhales, rubbing his eyes.

“I don’t think Dean’s exactly had a lot of practice.”

“You defending him?” Anna asks incredulously, glancing up.

“No—well.” Castiel acquiesces. “He did save my life.”

“After getting it into danger in the first place,” Anna mutters, now starting on the stitches, needle moving quickly back and forth. 

Castiel opens his mouth, then closes it again. He's not exactly sure how to tell her. 

"Where's Gabriel?" He asks instead, straightening so she can reach his back.

Anna pulls another stitch, probably a little harder than necessary.

“Toronto,” she says shortly.

Castiel bites his lip.

“Oh.”

 

They’re silent. He taps his fingers together.

 

“So.”

Anna tapes him up, avoiding his eyes.

"We gonna talk about it?"

Castiel’s mouth goes dry. 

 

"Talk about what?"

She glances up. 

"What's been up with you lately. We gonna talk about it, or not?"

Castiel swallows thickly, turning his head. 

“Or not,” he says, his voice cracking.

 

Thankfully, Anna doesn’t push it. She just sighs, finishing off the bandages with a last piece of tape. Castiel sits up, twisting experimentally. They’re near perfect, tight and solid, with almost military-like precision.

“Thanks," he says quickly , grabbing his shirt.

“Yeah.”

 

She tosses everything back into the med kit, and Castiel pulls his shirt back on, chewing his lip. Anna braces her hands against the table, furrowing her brow.

“Okay, then this destiny crap.”

 

She gestures towards him.

"Any developments there?"

Castiel gingerly runs a hand over his side, grimacing.

"Uh...about that."

He exhales slowly, setting his jaw. He had to tell her eventually. 

“Dean wasn’t lying. Not completely.”

She raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"Pulling me out was a fluke,” Castiel says finally. “But not you. Looks like you're really...gonna save the world.”

 

Anna stares at him as he explains, and by the time he’s finished, her mouth is open.

“But why me? Why, out of everyone—“

She stops, shaking her head. 

“No. That can’t be right. No.”

“Why not?” Castiel asks. "Anna, out of anyone in this screwed up family, it  _would_  be you."

“Cas. C’mon. You know I’m not exactly next to godliness." She nervously pulls her sleeves down her arms, shifting uncomfortably. "There’s…there’s gotta be some mistake.”

“There isn’t,” Castiel says softly.

 

Anna's lips tighten into a thin line. She turns away from him, glaring at the wall. 

"Well, they can go screw themselves," she mutters finally. "No way in hell I’m gonna agree to being a—a vessel, or whatever.”

 

“I believe the term Dean used was ‘angel condom’.”

“Vivid.”

 

x

 

Castiel’s injuries heal quickly, and it isn’t long before he’s itching to get back to the normal schedule of things.

 

But Anna had refused. She forced him to stay behind from the hunt, and he had to watch her drive away in his car yesterday, Gabriel waving and grinning toothily from the front seat.

 

Castiel had retreated sulkily into his room and is now sitting at his desk, fiddling with his revolver.

He grits his teeth. He's perfectly fine. He's not a goddamn child.

 

 

He eventually gets frustrated and tosses the gun away from him, flopping back in his seat. He presses a finger to his temple, fuming. What the hell is he supposed to do now?

“Hey, Cas.”

 

Castiel whirls. There he is again—Jesus—

Dean had flashed in again, silently. It's still unnerving, every time.

But it’s the first time Castiel’s seen him since the angels attacked…and even if he doesn’t want to admit it, he had been worried.

“Dean.”

Dean smiles secretively, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Whatcha up to today?”

Castiel opens his mouth to answer, when he sees the smirk.

Dick.

 

 

“So. You saw,” he mumbles sourly.

“Yup. Looks like you are...grounded,” Dean says, chuckling. “Anna chewed you out pretty good.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Dean laughs again, leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, if you’re not otherwise occupied, I got a coupla ideas.”

 

Castiel frowns, looking up at him.

“Like what?”

Dean doesn’t answer. He just smiles.

“Come on,” he beckons, inclining his head before disappearing into the hallway.

Castiel contemplates for a minute, but he eventually stands, and follows.

 

He heads down the narrow hallway to the main area of the church, stopping in the doorway. The pews have been cleared away to the sides, and Dean is standing in the middle of the dusty floor, taking off his jacket.

Castiel starts.

“What are you doing?”

“Well—“ Dean shrugs off the leather, tossing it aside before peeling off his dark t-shirt, leaving him bare-chested in front of Castiel.

No, seriously. What the fuck?

“After our little angel mishap the other day—” Dean kneels and starts unlacing his boots. “Figured you could use a little practice.”

“Practice?”

Dean looks up, smirking.

“Yeah, Cas, practice. It’s what people do to get better at something.”

Castiel just stares at him. Dean succeeds in getting his shoes off and tosses them aside, ignoring Castiel's confused expression.

“How good are you with knives?” Dean asks, standing.

Castiel squints. He thinks he knows where this is going, but with Dean…

He's never really sure.

 

Castiel shrugs.

“I’m alright.”

Dean shakes his head.

“Alright isn’t good enough anymore, unfortunately.”

With a flick of his hand, a shiny silver blade appears in his palm. He beckons Castiel closer.

“This,” Dean says, turning it over in his hand, “is an angel blade. One of the few things that can kill us—well.” He shrugs. “That humans can wield.”

He looks down at it for a minute, then holds it out.

“Here.”

 

Castiel looks up, startled.

“What?”

Dean brandishes it at him.

“Take it.”

When Castiel doesn’t, Dean rolls his eyes.

“Look. It’s my fault that you’re in this mess in the first place, and that a bunch of angry angels are on your ass.” He grimaces. “It’s the least I can do.”

Castiel still remains silent, stubbornly staring at the blade. Dean sighs.

“Look…our problems are far from over. You’ll probably need to know how to use one before long. It’d be nice for you to get a feel for it first.”

Castiel silently agrees, but doesn’t say anything. He keeps his arms tightly crossed.

Dean shrugs.

“But hey. Up to you.”

 

Castiel look back down at the blade. Practice is one thing, but Dean giving him one—

“How do you know I won’t just stab you with it?” Castiel asks, raising an eyebrow.

Dean chuckles.

“That would be pretty ambitious of you.”

He leans in.

“I’m faster than I look,” he says, winking.

But Castiel still doesn’t take it. Dean’s smile fades, and the look that replaces it is something Castiel can’t really describe.

“I trust you, Cas,” he says quietly.

 

Castiel takes a deep breath.

By giving him this, Dean was admitting that he could put his life in his hands. An angel, putting his faith in someone like Castiel.

They’re frozen for a moment, but then Castiel reaches out and takes the blade. It’s light, impossibly light, and Castiel turns it over, admiring. He spins it, testing the weight and balance—then flips it. He catches it smoothly, surprised when it seems to reverberate in his hand.

“Whoa,” he murmurs.

 

“It’s yours.”

 

 

Castiel looks up sharply. Dean has a slight smile on his face.

“Besides—” his hands flash again—“I got a spare.” He wiggles the second blade.

Castiel turns over the masterpiece in his hands, smiling as the edge catches the light.

“Oh, wait—“

 

Dean reaches out, passing a hand over the blade in Castiel’s hand. It glows blue for a second, slightly warm and humming against his skin, then it fades.

“Protects the edge,” Dean explains, doing the same to his own. “So we don’t cut each other into ribbons.” He indicates the blade. “Go ahead, try it.”

Castiel experimentally presses a thumb against the sharp edge of the blade, but it doesn’t hurt him. A slight buzzing pressure, but no pain. 

He steels himself and slices the blade down his palm, but there’s nothing. Only a slight tingling sensation.

“Well,” Castiel breathes. “I’ll be damned.”

 

Dean smiles, standing back.

“All right. Let’s go.”

Castiel blinks.

“What?”

Dean curls a finger, beckoning.

“Wanna see what you got.”

 

Castiel stares at him.

“You want to fight with me?” He asks, frowning.

Dean snorts.

“Yes, that’s what I’m getting at.”

When Castiel doesn’t move, he gives him an exasperated look.

“Cas. It’ll be fun, promise.”

Castiel looks at the blade in his hand. Shit. Going toe to toe with an angel.

 

“You’re going to beat me into a pulp,” he says.

Dean winks.

“Probably.”

Castiel frowns, thinking.

“And what about your powers?”

Dean stiffens a little.

“I can’t heal, doesn’t mean I can’t fight.”

Castiel tenses. He hadn’t meant—

“No, I mean—none of that teleporting shit. That’s cheating.”

“Oh.”

Dean relaxes slightly, and that smile returns. He sticks out his hand.

“Deal.”

Castiel smiles too, and he grasps Dean’s hand, letting go after a brief moment.

 

 

Dean starts to take his position, but Castiel clears his throat.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?” His eyes are light.

“Um—thank you.”

Dean tilts his head.

“For what?”

Castiel swallows.

“For, uh, the other day…you know.” He gestures vaguely, trying to get the words out. “For saving me.”

 _Both times,_  Castiel thinks.

 

Dean looks at him, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

“No problem.”

He stares at him for a second, then drags his eyes away.

“Don’t think this means I’m gonna go easy on you,” he quips, as Castiel starts shrugging off his own jacket.

Castiel laughs, kicking off his shoes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

 

He strips too, until he’s down to his black undershirt, taking a couple experimental pivots. The floor is nice, the dust helping with the traction.

He looks up, seeing Dean framed opposite him, grinning cockily, and his stomach flips.

 

This is going to be interesting.

 

 

 

Castiel tightens his grip around the hilt, licking his lips. His heart is starting to pound, and they hadn’t even started yet.

He just stares. Dean stares back.

Neither of them move.

 

Then Castiel darts forward. He feints left, then stabs right, but Dean barely blinks. He grabs his wrist and rolls with him, twisting until Castiel lets out a cry and drops his blade.

There’s a press of cold metal on the back of his neck.

“Dead,” Dean says simply.

 

He lets go, and Castiel straightens, eyeing him warily. He bends down, not taking his eyes off Dean. He scoops up his knife, standing to face him again.

Dean runs his thumb up the edge of the blade and smirks, rolling onto his heels. His eyes are dancing.

Castiel lunges again, bringing up his hand—and Dean spins, sweeping his leg. Castiel crashes to the floor, hard, and Dean has him pinned in a heartbeat. He taps his chin with the blade.

“Dead again.”

Castiel shoves him off, sending Dean staggering back. Castiel leaps up, circling around him. He flips the knife, grabbing the hilt and pointing the blade down. His brings his other hand up to guard, taking slow, even breaths.

 

Castiel can’t deny it—he's rusty. He hasn’t sparred with knives in years.

And Dean is an angel. Castiel can already imagine the bruises he's going to have tomorrow.

 

He attacks again, darting his hand out, but the blade hisses as it stings only air. Castiel whirls, panting. Christ, he's fast—

Dean appears out of nowhere—he grabs Castiel's wrists and drags him in.

“Word of advice?” Dean breathes. He twists his grip, and Castiel’s blade is clattering away against the floor again.

“Never make the first move.”

 

He shoves him back, and Castiel scrambles, but Dean is already there—

He spins and Castiel blocks his hands, but Dean’s moving too fast, he’s like lightning—strike after strike, all Castiel can do is block.

“Better—“ Dean gasps as Castiel hits him in the chest, forcing him back. Dean slashes out at him, but Castiel ducks just in time, scrambling as Dean attacks, again and again.

“If you’re unarmed block with your forearms—“

Dean slices at Castiel's arm to illustrate his point, a short shock of pain that quickly is replaced by a dull throbbing.

“Don’t get hit in the neck—“ the blade stings past his ear—“The chest, the stomach—“

Castiel snaps a hand out and knocks Dean’s blade away, using the brief respite to grab his own forgotten blade, sweeping it up and turning to face him again. Dean lets a brief smile cross his face, before looking to his right, reaching out. His blade flies towards him, and he catches it, straightening.

Castiel circles around him, breathing hard.

“Cheating.”

Dean grins.

“Guilty.”

 

Castiel eyes him, planning his next move. The technique is coming back to him now. His body is remembering, and with every pass, it's getting easier to dodge and parry Dean’s blows.

Castiel turns his side to his opponent, minimizing the target. Dean is motionless.

He suddenly darts forward, and they whirl again—

 

Castiel stops the hand that had been inches away from his neck, and they struggle against each other, the tip of Dean’s blade creeping closer.

“What happened to not making the first move?” he manages to gasp out.

Dean laughs briefly, barely breaking a sweat.

“Element of surprise.”

 

Castiel struggles against his hold, his muscles shaking with the effort. He leans back as far as he can without falling over, but Dean’s grip is tight, the point of his knife getting closer and closer to Castiel's throat.

Dean's too good, too fast. Castiel's going to have to play dirty.

 

Instead of fighting against it, he jerks back, shifting their center of gravity—Dean’s eyes widen as he realizes—

He falls, practically on top of Castiel, but Castiel rolls out of it, kicking Dean off. He grabs the blade and whirls—but Dean is up already, grabbing his forearm.

“Good.”

Dean spins him like it's nothing, twisting Castiel’s arm and driving his own blade to press against his stomach.

“But dead,” he breathes, hot in his ear.

Castiel throws his elbow back, catching Dean by surprise and sending him stumbling back. They meet each other in the middle, silver clashing again and again.

 

Castiel catches Dean in a moment of switching angles, and he throws himself forward—slicing him across the shoulder.

Dean spins out, looking down at his arm in surprise.

“Well.”

He looks up, grinning.

“One point to Castiel.”

 

“What’s the score?” Castiel asks wryly, starting to circle around him again.

“Don’t wanna embarrass you,” Dean retorts, smiling.

 

 

Castiel loses track of time after a while—he’s just adrenaline and instinct, reacting to Dean’s blows and trying to get one step ahead—Dean’s instructions hissing in his ear.

 

 

“Your blade should feel like an extension of your arm."

 

Dean leaps forward, gracefully lashing out. Castiel grabs the edge just in time, shoving him back. 

"Focus on the target, but don’t forget about your actions—always be aware of yourself, otherwise—“

Castiel sees and opening and lunges for it, but drops his arm in the process—and that’s when Dean grabs him, deftly knocking him to the floor and pressing the blade against his side.

“You get screwed,” he finishes, a slight smirk on his face.

 

Castiel breathes hard, propping himself up on his elbows. Dean extends his hand.

 

He grips Castiel’s arm and helps him up, quickly dancing back out of reach. Castiel shakes his head, struggling for breath.

“I can't beat you," he pants. "You’re too damn fast.”

Dean turns his head sharply.

“Okay, so I’m faster.” 

 

He steps closer, gesturing at Castiel. 

“So then what are you? Stronger? More agile? Think.”

 

Castiel looks him over, thinking hard. He's not stronger, that’s for sure. Dean knocks the breath from Castiel's lungs every time he lays him out.

 

But Dean favors his right. Castiel's noticed—sometimes Dean will pull back, not taking the next blow because it's a left-handed move. A weakness that Castiel could exploit. Perhaps because he's an angel, Dean had always relied on strength. Castiel's going to have to be smart.

 

They go again, dull metal clangs reverberating in his ears. Castiel can feel his heart pounding, body whining in exhaustion—

“That all you got?" Dean asks, those hot eyes fixed on his.

Castiel snarls—and he darts a hand out, jabbing Dean in the ribs. Dean is surprised enough by the action that Castiel is able to take advantage—twisting his blade out of his hand and darting back, Dean’s blade clutched tight in his fingers. Dean faces him, panting.

“Not bad,” he says, going back to circling, crouched down slightly.

 

Castiel tries not to let a smug smile cross his face. He has the advantage now, with both blades in his hands.

 

Now to see if he could keep it. Dean is still incredibly dangerous, even unarmed.

 

 

Castiel had never really liked knives, preferring the cool detachment of guns. But he had sparred with Anna, Gabriel, even his father a couple times, and he had always thought himself the best out of any of them.

But they're only human. Dean is an angel.

And Castiel had disarmed him.

 

 

The thought makes him smile, and that’s when Dean strikes. He hits Castiel hard, and they tumble, Dean wrenching away both blades and throwing him to the floor.

“Don’t get cocky,” he hisses. “That’s how you end up dead.”

 

The sharp edge is pressed to Castiel’s chin, but it only creates a warm buzzing against his skin. Castiel curls his lip, shooting back a quick retort.

“You’d just bring me back, though, right?” 

Dean doesn’t respond. He looks barely winded, but his eyes are furious, glaring down at Castiel. Castiel's chest is heaving, and he can feel Dean's heavy weight on top of him, almost every inch of them pressed together, one hand at Castiel’s throat, the other on the floor beside his head.

Castiel doesn’t move, their gazes locked.

Dean's eyes harden, and he abruptly shoves off him.

 

He’s back across the floor, setting himself into his regular stance. Castiel slowly stands, trying to remember how to breathe.

 

Dean tosses his knife back to him, all traces of mirth gone.

Castiel doesn’t blink. He snatches it out of the air, staring Dean down. He spins it a couple times in his palm, getting a firm grip. Castiel takes slow steps around him, taking in his position and planning his next attack.

 

Dean walks unhurriedly opposite him, eyeing Castiel coldly. They both come to a stop, and for a moment, all they do is stare.

Dean shifts his weight. Castiel bends his knees slightly, waiting.

 

 

He quickly dips and throws a shoulder into him, crouching down low and bringing up the blade around Dean’s left side, hoping to surprise him—

There’s a sharp hiss as metal meets metal. Dean lets out a brief laugh.

“Come on—“

He spins and they both swing at the same time, seizing each other’s wrists. They struggle, both trying to force the other to drop his knife.

Dean snarls into his ear.

“You can do better than that—”

Dean twists Castiel’s arm up behind him and spins him around, trapping his knife hand between them.

Dean seizes his wrist, pulling his arms back, and Castiel is helpless—fuck, he had been reckless, so stupid to let Dean get the upper hand like that—

Dean has him pinned with just one hand, and the other comes up to circle around Castiel's neck, the point of his knife under his chin. Castiel struggles against his arms as Dean leans in close, his lips at his ear.

“Dead ag—“

Castiel surprises him by kicking back and breaking sharply out of the hold, dropping down and pulling his ankle. Dean crashes to the floor, his back slamming into the dust. They wrestle, their free hands shoving and gripping as each tries to overpower the other.

They scramble up, and Dean lunges, but Castiel dodges easily, having learned some of his better moves by now. Dean may be fast, but if he's predictable—

The better move would have been to go left, but again, Dean picks the right—and Castiel is ready. He steps into his path, breaking up Dean's rhythm. Dean counters at the last second—

Dean makes as if to go for his side, but twists, sending the edge of his knife whistling towards Castiel’s head. He only manages to stop him at the last minute, their hands locked up above their heads, shoving against each other. Castiel digs in his heels, but he’s so strong—

He flicks his eyes up to Dean’s face. He isn’t looking at him, he’s concentrating on Castiel’s hand, his right, the one the knife is in, not watching the rest of him—

Castiel releases his blade and it drops, falling perfectly into his left, and he swipes out—

He presses the tip into the skin of Dean’s belly, and they both freeze. Dean looks down at his exposed stomach, then up to Castiel’s face.

“Dead,” he whispers.

 

 

Dean stares at Castiel in surprise for a moment. But then he laughs, releasing him.

“Damn, Cas,” he says, stepping back. “You got some moves on you.”

 

Castiel can’t help it. He grins, watching as Dean moves towards their abandoned clothes and tosses his blade down onto the pile, shrugging.

“Or maybe I’m getting old.” He laughs. “Millennia starting to take their toll.”

“You sure you weren’t letting me kick your ass?” Castiel asks, smiling slightly. 

“Hell, no.” 

Dean punches him lightly on the shoulder.

“I mean it, Cas,” he says sincerely. “You can hold your own.”

 

He conjures up a towel out of nowhere and tosses it to Castiel, who nods gratefully, starting to wipe his face. Dean pulls his shirt and then his shoes back on, humming to himself.

Castiel drags a hand through his damp hair, thinking. Maybe...the only reason he managed to get those hits in in the first place is because Dean isn’t at full strength.

He immediately feels guilty, and shoves that thought away. It's good practice, regardless.

 

“Definitely not how I thought I’d spend my day,” Castiel says, sitting down next to him.

Dean glances up, his face splitting into a grin.

“Same time next week?”

Castiel smiles.

“You’re on.”

 

 

Dean crosses his legs up underneath him and sits back, watching as Castiel pulls his shirt back on. He idly flips the blade in the air, tilting his head.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Castiel shrugs, rubbing his arms. He can already tell, he's going to be fucking sore tomorrow.

“My dad,” he eventually says.

 

It’s weird. Castiel hasn’t talked about him in years.

Dean is watching him, his eyes bright and interested.

“He was a hunter too,” Castiel says. “Of course, the focus was mostly on shooting salt into demons, but he made us do boxing, wrestling, self-defense.”

Castiel grabs his shoes and starts to lace them up.

“Not too much experience with knives though,” he jokes.

Dean laughs.

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

Castiel bites back his smile, tying the knot on his shoes and straightening.

 

A shrill noise startles him, and he turns. His phone is ringing raucously from his discarded jacket, and Castiel digs for it, finally pressing it to his ear.

“Yeah?”

 

 

Anna’s voice spills out from the other end, harsh and frantic.

“Cas—“

“Anna?”

He darts up immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

He sees Dean stand, coming around in front of him, eyes questioning. Anna speaks shakily in his ear.

“It’s Gabriel,” she blurts.

Castiel’s stomach lurches.

“Angels?”

“No, we had the hex bags—I don’t know, the thing must’ve been tailing us, we’d barely gotten into town before—“

She isn’t able to finish, and Castiel forces himself to breathe.

 

“Anna. Where are you?”

“M-motel in Sterling, off 5th and Greensville—“

The words barely leave her mouth before Dean’s hand is clamped around Castiel's wrist, and they’re falling backward.

 

Anna’s voice echoes in and around him, her mouth falling open in shock.

 

Dean rushes forward.

“Where is he?”

 

 

 

They run after her into the bathroom, and Castiel stops dead in the doorway. Anna kneels at Gabriel's side, barely able to speak.

“The ambulance said it’s coming,” she shudders out. “I—I didn’t dare move him.”

Castiel’s vaguely aware of Dean answering her, but their voices fade away, and Castiel can’t breathe.

His heart is pounding in his chest, which feels clogged, blocked—everything in him fighting and screaming at him to run,  _run, just run_ —

_“Not so fast, Castiel.”_

 

_It grabs him by the neck and slides the blade underneath his ribs, eyes white and cold._

_“Let’s make some pretty new scars,” comes the sharp hiss._

_He collapses, everything blood—white hot and pain and fire, smoke, ash—_

“Don’t lie to me!”

 

Castiel staggers back as Anna rages past him, shoving Dean. He falls to the floor, momentarily jolted out of it. Gabriel’s hand hangs limp beside him, slick and red. Castiel grabs it, clutching tight.

“You can do something!” Anna is screaming. “You’ve got powers, you—”

Dean desperately shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, I can't—“

Anna seizes his collar, curling her fist.

“You son of a bitch,” she seethes. “What kind of useless guardian are you?”

Dean grabs her wrist, his eyes full of pain.

“Anna,” he whispers. “It’s not like that, I—“

Gabriel sucks in a ragged breath and they all fall silent, staring at him. His skin is so pale.

 

“Come on, guys…” He laughs weakly. “Don’t…don’t fight on my deathbed.”

 

Castiel grips his hand tighter, trying to ignore the blood-soaked skin under his fingers.

“You’re not gonna die,” he chokes out. “You’re gonna be fine, Gabriel.”

He closes his eyes, laughing weakly.

“Someone’s gotta be the pain in my ass, right?”

Gabriel’s eyes slide closed.

“Right,” he mumbles.

Anna is staring at them, her lips thin and her face white. Dean has gone rigid. His eyes are blankly staring, his mouth forming silent words. Castiel clings to Gabriel’s hand.

 

_Get a hold of yourself. It’s just blood—nothing you haven’t seen before._

Only blood. He’d been bleeding, injured not too long ago himself.

But that was nothing compared to this.

 

 

There’s the sound of wings behind him and Castiel whips his head around, gaping at the new figure next to Dean. His eyes harden once he takes in the scene in front of him.

“Dean,” he breathes. “What is this?”

Dean grabs his arm, dragging him forward.

“Please, Sammy—"

"Dean, no—"

But despite his words, Castiel sees the angel cast worried eyes over to Gabriel on the floor.

“Dean, I…it’s dangerous,” he says, backing away slightly. “You shouldn't have called me, unless you have no other choice—"

“Sam.”

Dean’s voice cracks.

“He’s dying.”

 

Gabriel breathes shallowly, his arm covering the garish wound in his stomach. Dean draws in a shaking breath.

“Please.”

Sam’s jaw clenches, his face struggling to keep neutral. But his eyes betray his kindness.

 

He kneels quickly, pressing a hand to Gabriel’s forehead, and it’s as if he never knew a day of pain in his life. Gabriel surges up and grabs the edge of the tub, gasping.

“Wha—“

He blinks, staring up into Sam’s face.

“You—“

Sam withdraws his hand, the mask sliding back into place. He nods curtly at the three of them before grabbing Dean’s elbow.

“I need to talk to you.  _Now_.”

 

 

They both disappear, but Castiel can't bring himself to care. Because Gabriel’s alive, Gabriel’s okay—

He sits up, taking a couple deep breaths.

“Damn,” Gabriel says shakily. “Thought that was it for a minute there.”

Anna is motionless for a brief moment, then she throws herself forward, drowning Gabe in a hug.

"You complete idiot," she chokes out. "I thought, I thought—"

"Me too," Gabriel mumbles, wrapping an arm around her. "Me too."

Castiel floods with relief, sinking back.

 

But his hand lands in a puddle of blood, and he snatches his arm back, suddenly dizzy.

He has to get out of here.

 

 

Castiel stands shakily.

“I’ll go check outside, see if I can—“

Anna doesn't notice, still clinging to Gabriel. He’s got his eyes closed, holding her tight.

 

Castiel doesn’t bother finishing his sentence. He breaks outside into the crisp twilight, sucking down great heaving breaths.

The parking lot’s deserted, but his head is spinning. He clutches his chest, feeling like his heart is about to burst. Nothing is real, he’s choking—he can’t breathe, he can’t _—_

Castiel drops his hands to his knees, feeling like he might throw up.

 

_Get a hold of yourself, Castiel, you’re stronger than this._

 

 

He stands, curling his arms around himself.

_Don’t be weak._

 

 

 

He's been standing out on the crappy motel sidewalk for he doesn't know how long, frozen, when Dean pops into existence on the curb next to him, scowling.

“Jesus, Sam,” he’s muttering. “Not that hard to head off an ambulance, it won’t  _blow your cover_ , Bond wannabe.”

He snorts, rubbing his hands together against the slight chill.

"Cas."

 

Castiel looks over his shoulder, trying to force his expression back into neutral.

"Gabriel okay?" Dean's voice says.

 

"Yeah," Castiel hears himself answer. Everything sounds so far away. Dull, muted.

 

"Well, I don't think you'll have to worry about hightailing it. I know Sam’s being all pissy about the other angels finding us, but you should be fine."

 

When Castiel doesn't respond, Dean shifts anxiously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry about him, by the way. He means well."

 

 

Castiel is silent, staring at the ground. He's vaguely aware of Dean coming around his side, looking at him curiously.

"Cas?"

 

Castiel jerks his head up.

"Yeah," he says shakily. "Yeah, I get it."

 

Dean doesn't move.

"Cas," he says slowly. "What's wrong?"

Castiel draws his arms tighter around himself, fighting the urge to vomit.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

 

Dean is quiet.

 

"Cas, you're shaking."

 

 

 

Castiel looks down at his hands, which are trembling without his consent. He locks them together, plastering a smile on his face.

"Just need a minute, okay?" He glances back at the motel door, only that thin wall separating him from the terrible scene they had left behind.

"All that—I just—"

Castiel cuts off, not really sure how he planned to finish that sentence. He can't tell him.

 

Instead, he sits down on the curb, focusing on his breath. He just wants Dean to leave.

 

 

"You remember."

 

 

Castiel freezes.

 

 

"God, I’m sorry," Dean breathes. "I never wanted—I didn't know—"

 

 

He reaches out, as if to put a hand on Castiel's shoulder—but then he stops, clenching his fist. He reluctantly draws his hand back.

"I'm going to get Anna," he whispers.

Castiel panics, grabbing Dean's arm.

“No—“

“Cas, you gotta—“

“Dean.”

Castiel pulls him down until they’re level, swallowing hard.

“Please,” he chokes out. “She can’t know. She can’t ever know.”

 

Dean doesn’t move.

“Anna would want to know,” he whispers.

Castiel shakes his head.

“Don’t tell her.”

He tightens his grip.

“Please.”

Dean is quiet, and for a minute, Castiel’s heart is in his mouth.

 

“Fine.”

 

 

Before Castiel has the chance to feel relief, Dean is sitting beside him, those eyes still fixed on his face.

“But you gotta tell me everything,” he says softly.

Castiel swallows, staring unfocused at the pavement before him.

They’re silent for a long moment, and then—then…Castiel begins to talk.

 

 

x

 

 

By the time Anna wanders outside to find them, Dean is halfway through a rambling story about the Tower of Babel, and how the builders were cocky little pricks, and Castiel almost feels like he could float.

Dean did not judge him. Dean does not hate him. It feels like a great weight has been lifted from Castiel’s shoulders, like Dean is sharing part of the burden. Castiel's far from okay, but this...this is better. It helps.

 

She stops behind them, nudging Castiel with her foot.

"What are you doing out here?"

"Just keeping watch," Dean says cheerfully.

Castiel glances over, giving him a small grateful nod.

"Well," Anna says, crossing her arms. "I don't know about you, but I want to ventilate the bitch-ass monster that nearly killed my cousin."

As if on cue, Gabriel comes out with a bag in hand, slamming the door behind him. 

"Amen."

Gabriel plops the bag down on their car, looking pissed. Castiel notices thankfully he's changed his clothes.

"Let's take down this sucker," Gabe mutters, pulling out a machete.

 

Castiel stands, feeling only a little bit shaky. He moves next to him, checking out the bag, where Gabriel has apparently packed enough weapons to arm a small drug cartel.

"Damn, Gabriel."

He feels a genuine smile tug at his lips.

"You should be angry more often."

 

Dean stands too, peering over Castiel's shoulder.

"What are we after?"

Anna shrugs.

"Dunno. Just know it's got huge teeth and a hell of a temper."

"Okami?" Castiel asks.

Anna shakes her head.

"We haven't seen one of those in years...but I guess it's possible."

"Don't really care what it is," Gabriel says firmly. "As long as it can die. So let's _go_."

 

He zips up the bag and hefts it over his shoulder, when Sam abruptly appears on the pavement, next to Dean. They all freeze.

 

 

Gabriel's hand tightens on the strap of the bag, the corner of his mouth twitching.

 

"Thank you," he says eventually.

"You're welcome," Sam says back, equally stiff.

 

Anna looks back and forth between them. She huffs in exasperation, rolling her eyes.

"That was beautiful. Very touching. Can we go now?"

"Go where?" Sam asks sharply.

Anna halts, before turning to the angel with a saccharine smile on her face.

"We're gonna take care of that monster, now. 'Cause it's our job. So _if_ you don't mind."

 

She doesn't wait for him to answer, yanking open the passenger door of Castiel's truck. Gabriel starts loading stuff into the back, but neither of the angels have moved. 

"Um—well."

Dean coughs, shifting a little. Anna pauses, raising an eyebrow.

"Can we come?" Dean blurts.

 

"Dean," Sam says sharply, glaring at him.

"You want to come?" Anna asks, staring at them incredulously.

"Yeah!" Dean says enthusiastically, bouncing over to her side. "Sounds like fun, man! Besides—" He claps her on the shoulder. "You could use a couple angels on your side, right?"

 

Castiel looks at Anna. He’s still feeling a little shaky, but if he's being honest, he’d appreciate the distraction of the hunt.

"He's not wrong." He shrugs. "It might be nice to have backup."

Anna looks between the two of him, pursing her lips.

"Whatever."

She jerks her head, gesturing towards the trunk.

 

"Load 'em up."

 

Castiel leads them round to the back, handing them both a gun from the pack. Sam looks down at the shotgun in his hand, squinting.

"I have no need for this."

"C’mon, Sammy." Dean nudges his brother, waving the gun around. "It’ll be an adventure!"

Castiel hastily gets a hand on the barrel.

"Please stop doing that."

 

Dean huffs, but thankfully stops. Castiel taps the end of the gun.

"You see this end where the bullets come out?"

"Yeah?"

"Don’t point it at anyone."

Dean gives him a face.

 

 

Before they head out, Dean remembers to give Anna and Gabriel their own rib accessories, which he does, tactlessly, without warning—and Gabriel decides to test out his newfound health by chasing Dean across the parking lot. 

Castiel drives, Sam sitting stiffly behind him, Gabriel and Dean bickering and elbowing each other the whole way, until Anna yells at them to can it.

They spend the rest of the drive in sulky silence. 

 

x

 

 

With Dean and Sam's heightened senses, they find it in no time, 'it' turning out to be a ghoul, and apparently two of them—and they finally get on their trail, chasing them both into some shipping yards.

Gabriel and Anna corner the first one, and he decapitates it in spectacular fashion, giving it a kick for good measure afterwards.

"That was for trying to kill me, you piece of crap."

 

Castiel is more distracted by the second one, which is hot on his tail. Dean is nowhere to be seen, he got separated from Anna, and now—

 

Castiel rounds the corner, but it grabs his ankle and yanks him back, sending him crashing to the floor. He barely gets his hands up in time to keep it from ripping out his throat—but it snarls down at him, mouth reeking of death.

Goddammit. 

 

He squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself.

 

 

It explodes above him. Castiel jerks back, gasping, the smoking corpse sliding off him. He looks around wildly, and to his surprise, Sam is standing above him, frowning down at the shotgun.

 

"I take it back," Sam says thoughtfully, turning it over in his hands. "I suppose these are useful."

 

Castiel can barely breathe, staring up at him in shock. Sam lowers the gun, pausing briefly before extending a hand.

Castiel grips it before he has a chance to change his mind, and Sam pulls him up, his face still blank and impassive.

"Thanks," Castiel says shortly. Sam gives him a slow nod.

 

Dean pops into existence behind Sam's shoulder, beaming.

 

"Dude, that was awesome."

He whacks Sam on the shoulder, his smile wide.

"Nice one, Sammy. You're a natural."

"Was it absolutely necessary to hit me?" 

"Jeez, dude, take a couple of those sticks out of your ass."

"I don't have any—oh. It's an expression."

Dean rolls his eyes.

 

x

 

 

Once they dispose of the bodies with the help of some angelic firepower, they head back to the car. Ever polite, Gabriel pipes right up.

"Well. Thanks and all, but you can go now." He makes a little shooing motion with his hands. "Go back to your angel business or whatever."

Castiel keeps his mouth shut. He strangely doesn't want either of the angels to leave, but he doesn't see any reason for them to stay. What would they do? Drink crappy beer and play cards? As if.

 

"Okay, fine."

 

Dean points a finger at all of them, sounding ridiculously like a scolding mother.

"But I'm checking in with you in the morning."

Castiel smiles.

"See you then."

 

 

Dean gives a little salute, and then they disappear.

 

"Well, that was fucking weird," Gabriel mutters.

"Understatement," Castiel says.

"If Dad could see us now," Anna says dryly.

 

 

 

x

 

 

Dean, true to his word, pops in to see them off.

 

He watches them all hop in to the car and closes the driver’s door, slapping a hand against the frame. Despite Gabriel's near death experience, he and Anna had no trouble quickly falling back into their usual squabbling. Castiel tunes out them out, focusing on Dean.

“Guess I’ll see you around, Remington.”

Castiel leans an elbow out the window.

"Sam still pissed at you?"

Dean shrugs.

"I guess, a little. But he’ll come round. He just worries, y'know. But to tell you the truth—" Dean leans in, smirking. "I think he had fun."

Castiel clears his throat, tightening his fingers around the wheel.

“Well…tell him thanks. From all of us.”

Dean smiles that crooked grin.

“I will.”

 

He lowers his voice.

"And, hey. You gonna be okay?" He asks softly. "And no bullshit."

Castiel lowers his eyes, and takes a deep breath, evaluating.

"Yeah. I think I will be," he says eventually, and he realizes that it's true.

"Thank you, Dean."

 

Dean smiles softly, those honey green eyes crisp and light.

 

 

Then it’s as if he’s finally realized what’s in front of him, and Dean steps back, wrinkling his nose.

“You’re still driving this piece of crap?”

Castiel sets his jaw, starting the car.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

“Hey, I’m just saying—“

Castiel doesn’t let him finish. He quickly pulls away from the angel laughing hysterically in the parking lot.

 

 

 

He tries to keep a smile from creeping onto his face, but he’s not very successful.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it ain't spn without baby ;)

 

 

Castiel emerges from the church one morning, and there’s something sitting in his driveway.

With an angel on the hood.

 

 

“What the hell is that?”

 

“Dude, it’s a car.”

“Yeah, I can see that it’s a car.” 

Castiel crosses his arms.

“What is it doing here?”

 

Dean grins.

“Thought you could use one.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“I have a car.”

 

Dean jumps off the hood, sauntering up to him.

“But this one’s so awesome,” he whines.

 

Castiel shakes his head, but he can’t help but admire the dark beauty of it, the shiny metal of the wheels and plates. He’s about to ask just exactly where it came from, when Dean’s face shifts, his expression suddenly mischievous. Castiel squints at him.

“What?”

 

Dean sways back and forth, his hands in his pockets.

“Dunno. Just about your car…” He shrugs. “I don’t think it’s fit to drive, man.”

Castiel turns slowly.

“What’s wrong with it?” He asks evenly, his voice dangerous.

Dean doesn’t say anything. Castiel holds up a finger.

“What did you do to my car?”

 

Dean’s eyes widen innocently.

“Nothing! It just went end up!”

 

Castiel stares.

 

Dean bites his lip.

 

 

 

“…In a ditch.”

 

“You little—“

“Hey, you needed an upgrade! I did you a favor—”

 

Dean disappears and winks back into existence on the other side of the car, out of reach of Castiel’s hands, which had been seconds away from wrapping around his neck.

“Besides,” Dean smirks. “I’d rather ride shotgun in this baby,” he says, patting the roof.

Castiel breathes heavily, trying to calm himself.

 

“You stole it, didn’t you?”

Dean just purses his lips.

Castiel presses a hand to his mouth, huffing out a breath.

“That guy from the gas station. You took this from him.”

 

Dean shrugs.

 

Castiel glares at him.

“What happened to  _Thou shalt not steal_?”

Dean sighs loudly.

“Paraphrasing.”

Castiel crosses his arms.

“ _Thou shalt not covet_?”

“Thou shalt not be a pretentious ass, Cas-ti-el.” Dean retorts. “Besides! The guy was a dick anyway. Tax evasion.” He leans forward, tapping his fingers on the hood. “Only reason he could afford her in the first place.”

Castiel huffs, but he doesn’t move.

“Oh, come on.”

 

Dean pops back over to his side, grabbing Castiel by the elbow and dragging him over to the car.

“You know you wanna test the old girl out.”

 

Dean grins and blips into the front seat. Castiel stares at him for a minute, wanting to walk away—but of course he knows he won’t. Dean raises a hand, shaking a set of shiny silver keys, his eyes inviting.

Castiel sighs.

He leans down to the open window.

 

“It seems like this is breaking all kinds of rules.”

 

Dean leans forward. He’s smiling, but his eyes are dark.

“I’ve been breaking a lot of rules since I met you, Cas.”

 

Castiel isn’t really sure how to respond to that.

 

 

 

He slides into the front seat and holds out an expectant hand, trying to look pissed off. But Dean just grins, dropping the keys into Castiel's palm and sitting back, that smug smile firmly locked in place. Castiel sticks the keys in the ignition, the engine roaring to life—and despite himself, his pulse jumps, thrumming with the energy of the car beneath him.

He pulls her onto the dirt road, gunning down towards the highway. Castiel curls his fingers around the wheel, the engine purring—and he smiles, pressing down on the accelerator.

He pushes her as fast as she can go, and Dean lets out a whoop, slapping his hands against the dash.

The road whips by, flashing before their eyes—and when Castiel spies an open area of road, he sharply spins the wheel—a thrill rushing through him as the car responds effortlessly to his touch, coming to a slick halt.

“Whoa,” he breathes.

 

Then he laughs, smoothing his hands over the wheel. His pickup had nothing on this.

 

Castiel glances over at Dean, who’s absolutely beaming.

“Well?” He asks.

“Hmm.”

 

Castiel nods, pretending to think about it.

“I guess we can keep her around.”

 

Dean’s triumphant smile lights up Castiel’s heart for days.

 

 

x

 

 

Hunting is a lot easier when you have an angel on your team. 

 

That first time was kind of a fluke, granted—but they had wrapped up the case in record time, thanks to Sam and Dean's help. It would be nice to have them stick around—but Castiel is realistic. It's not like he  _expects_ them to be at his beck and call. They're busy, after all. Dean's still 'on the run and badass', as he puts it, and Sam is doing the whole double agent thing—giving false leads to Lilith and reporting back on Heaven's actions so the Remingtons can stay one step ahead of them.

So that one time was convenient, yes. But mostly, Anna and Castiel just carry on like they always have.

But then there was Tulsa. 

 

 

A vampire had nearly ripped Anna’s throat out—it had her pinned, and Castiel was too far away—but then Dean had blazed in, fury in his eyes and his fist glowing white. He smote the one of top of Anna, throwing its smoking body aside—then got righteously pissed and took out the entire nest. Castiel thinks he saw stars for at least thirty minutes afterwards.

 

They trooped out of the dark building, tired and aching, Dean beside them, his head swiveling back and forth, vigilantly keeping watch. Anna stepped up next to him as Castiel dug for the keys to the car, her voice quiet.

“Guess you’re not entirely useless,” Castiel heard Anna mumble, her eyes on the ground. “I...I could do worse with a guardian.”

 

Dean’s entire face lit up—and he swept Anna under his arm, tousling her hair.

“You’re welcome, squirt."

Anna shoved against him, scowling.

“Oh, okay, I take it back, get off me—“

 

They sniped at each other the whole way home, and Castiel could barely keep back his smile.

 

x 

 

But then there are times when Dean seems like the damn devil himself.

 

 

Because he always sings along to whatever song is on the radio, usually very loud and  _very_  off-key. He isn’t always around, obviously—there are still skirmishes with angels that have him missing for days at a time—but sometimes, when Castiel wakes up in the night, he can hear Dean, puttering around the church when he thinks they're asleep, humming to himself. Strangely, it makes Castiel feel safe.

Dean teases Anna mercilessly, to the point where she threatens to banish him at least once per hour. One morning, Castiel came out of his room to see Dean laughing hysterically as Anna sprinted after him, her hair a brilliant shade of green.

 

 

So yeah. It's easy to forget. Forget that there's an actual honest-to-god angel, sometimes two, that now seem to inhabit a small corner of their world, a corner that's getting bigger every day.

 

It was partly Gabriel’s fault, too.

 

He had been stewing over a translation for one of their cases, an old pagan god, trying to find the exact way to kill it—when who else had dropped in—Dean, with Sam in tow.

Dean had quickly excused himself to go find Anna and Cas, leaving Sam standing stiffly in the corner.

Gabriel tried to ignore him for as long as possible, but there’s only so long you can pretend not to notice a six-foot warrior of God who keeps accidentally knocking over your files. 

 

“Hey. Bigfoot," Gabriel snapped, as the probably tenth book went sprawling. "Easy on the goods."

"Perhaps if you had some system of organization, I wouldn't be having this problem," Sam shot back.  

Gabriel pushed up his reading glasses, rubbing his eyes. 

"Why don't you just make yourself useful and take a look at this passage?" He grumbled.

 

Sam was still for a moment. Then he walked over, peering at the lines of text. Gabriel gestured. 

“Well? I’m open to any kind of help at this point.”

 

Sam managed to refrain from a dirty look, and picked up the book, clearing his throat. In one breath, he read the entire page flawlessly. After that, it was game over.

Because if there’s one thing Gabriel can put aside any grudges for, it’s sweets, porn, and a penchant for lore.

 

Even Anna warmed up to Sam gradually, finding all his awkwardness and dry sarcasm endearing. Despite trusting him as far as she could throw him, as she had said in so many words, Castiel walked in on them one afternoon, seeing Sam sitting on the floor in front of Anna, his expression pinched. Apparently she had talked him into tackling that hair.

“Jeez, when was the last time you had this cut?” she asked, twisting it up to the top of his head.

“It is my vessel’s,” he said seriously. “It does not grow.”

Anna just rolled her eyes.

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel walks into the back room, surprised to see Dean sitting on the floor, surrounded by old, musty books.

“What are you doing?” He checks his watch. “Anna says we’re gonna leave in like, five minutes.”

Dean doesn’t even look up at him.

Castiel snorts, walking closer so he can peer at some of the titles.

Damn. Dean must’ve really dug through his father’s stores. Castiel doesn’t even recognize some of them, and he thought he knew the library top to bottom, down to the last dusty page.

He pokes him with his foot.

“Hey.”

 

Dean vaguely flutters his hand at him, grumbling under his breath.

Castiel leans against the table, crossing his arms.

He waits, and Dean finally speaks.

“You know, you’ve got some fascinating stories about us,” he says. “Half of them even I didn’t know.”

 

Castiel laughs.

“Aren’t they mostly made up?”

Dean shrugs.

“Not necessarily.”

He props his hand on his cheek, eyes scanning the pages, lightning fast.

“Even stories get lost to us over the years. Become legend, become myth.”

Dean points to one of the loose sheets on the floor beside him, tapping his finger against an old faded drawing of a figure with burning wings.

“Like this one, about the angels who fell.”

Castiel straightens and walks over so he can see better. Dean continues.

“It’s amazing. I mean, really—if some of this is true—“

“You guys ready?”

Castiel turns, seeing Anna in the doorway, her pack in her hands. Dean stands hastily, folding up the page and shoving it into his pocket. Castiel nods.

“Yeah. Let me grab my coat.”

 

 

Castiel heads back to his room, Anna and Dean’s bickering following him down the hall. He drops his bag on his bed, heading over to the closet and sliding back the door. The weather's getting colder, and he has to dig for the object of his search, an old motorcycle jacket of his father’s. He shoves aside a couple shirts, an FBI suit or two, and—

He pauses. There, tucked neatly away in the back, is a long tan coat.

Castiel stares at it, his throat choked.

 

“Yo, Cas! What’s the holdup?”

 

Anna’s voice snaps him out of it, and Castiel sets his jaw, grabbing the leather jacket and slamming the door on the trenchcoat. Because, really.

Who wants to wear the clothes they died in?

 

 

 

Dean falls into step beside him as they head after Anna, who’s already at the car, loading it up.

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

Castiel glances at him, shouldering his sawed-off.

“What?”

Dean snorts.

“That coat. Who are you? Johnny Strabler?”

“Who?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Jesus, Cas, you might try watching a movie once in a while.”

Castiel gives him a look, sloughing his pack off his shoulder and tossing it in the trunk. He won’t admit it out loud, but he likes the new space in the Impala. Definitely less conspicuous than a shady tarp in the back of his pickup. And it was Sam’s idea to draw a devil’s trap on the inside.

“Hey. Some of us have monsters to kill. Fun kinda takes a back seat.”

Dean laughs with him, but shakes his head.

“Okay, but I’m definitely adding that to the list. The Wild One is a fuckin’ classic.”

He tilts his head, watching his breath rise into the cold sky.

“Seriously, dude. What kind of childhood did you have?”

 

Even as the words leave his lips, Dean looks like he immediately wants to snatch them back.

Castiel doesn’t say anything. He drops his eyes to the ground.

“Sorry, Cas,” Dean murmurs, after a moment.

 

There was one night, one perfectly easy night, when Dean had sat with him on the back of the Impala, not too far off from the graveyard, looking up at the stars. He had asked him about his mother. And Castiel had told him.

 

 

Castiel scuffs at the freshly fallen snow with the heel of his boot.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says quickly, clearing his throat.

Dean’s eyes are on him, looking like he’s on the verge of saying something else.

“Hey, deadweights. Let’s go,” Anna says, cutting through the moment.

 

Castiel slams the trunk closed, and that’s when Anna slips behind him, stealing the keys from his pocket. He makes a swipe at her, but she dodges him and unlocks the driver’s side, smirking. Castiel scowls, and sulkily slides into shotgun. But Dean doesn’t seem to mind the back, sprawling out with those gangly legs, even though he’s constantly reaching forward to fuck with the radio.

 

“Dean, so help me, I will slap you.”

“Shut up, we are not listening to Alternative hipster crap the whole way.”

“Driver picks the music, dick.”

“You tell him, Red.”

“Oh, you shut up too.”

They collapse into peals of laughter, and Anna grimaces, pressing down on the accelerator.

“You two are going to be the death of me.”

 

 

x

 

Castiel guesses the hunt goes as smoothly as usual.

The shifter had thrown him and disappeared, Anna and Dean after it. When Castiel finally gets vertical and clears his head, the both of them are nowhere to be seen. Castiel jams his hand into his pocket, only to find the mangled remains of his phone.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, starting to run. “Anna!”

 

He turns into a back alley, and skids to a halt, the telltale remains from the thing’s last shift lying in a grisly pile at his feet.

Castiel curses, wheeling and shouting into the dark air.

“ _Anna—_ where the hell are you??”

“What do you mean, where am I?”

 

Castiel stops dead. He blinks in the dim light, his eyes adjusting slowly,—and he finally sees it. The dark outline of an open manhole.

He kneels and looks over the edge, Anna and Dean’s faces peering up at him.

“I’m in this grimy-ass sewer with the shifter I just killed, no thanks to you," she says, wiping a bit of dirt from her forehead, her silver knife winking red in the light. Castiel sighs with relief, shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t have gone off alone,” he scolds, but tugs Anna up to the surface, both of them falling back, dirty and exhausted. Dean appears beside them, looking no worse for wear, a smug smile on his face.

“She wasn’t alone, Huggy Bear. We handled it.”

Castiel glares up at him, but feels his heart rate settle, just glad the both of them are okay.

 

Anna lifts her hand, grimacing.

“Ugh. I think I touched some of its…goop.”

“Gross.”

She wipes her palm on her pants, making a face, then reaches up to Dean.

“Hey, help me up.”

“Ew—no way—“

“You’re literally over a thousand years old, don’t be such a goddamn child—“

“Nope!”

He twists out of her way and promptly disappears, leaving Castiel nearly doubled over laughing.

So Anna goes after him instead.

 

x

 

 

The next morning, after they checked out, Castiel headed to get one of his replacement phones—and discovered Dean had sunk all his spares with whatever the hell he did to his old car.

So after bitching him out for a good ten minutes, they set off to find the nearest tech shop.

 

Dean throws up his hands, shrugging exasperatedly.

“I didn’t know, dude!”

“So much for omniscience,” Castiel grumbles. Anna just smirks, kicking back in the passenger seat.

“You know, I can just go get you a new one—“

“No more stealing, Dean.”

“Says the guy with the fake credit cards.”

Castiel barely resists the urge to flip him off.

 

They find a place in town, not too far from the motel, and the three of them traipse into the too-bright store, bewildered by the display and endless variety of options. Anna sensibly suggests they just ask for help, but Castiel stubbornly insists he can figure it out himself, waving off every employee who cheerfully tries to bother them.

“Can’t you just—I don’t know, touch these things and know how they work?”

 

He glares at the mess of wires in his hands, and Dean laughs, leaning back against the display table.

“Doesn’t quite work like that.”

“For an angel, you’re pretty damn useless.”

“That a flirtation?”

 

 

Castiel looks up, wondering why Anna said that—but he blinks, and realizes it’s another woman, with hair the same vibrant shade of red. She must be one of the employees—complete with glasses and the nametag at a jaunty angle on her shirt—staring intently at Dean, her brow furrowed.

 

Anna takes a cautious step forward, tugging at Dean’s elbow.

“Dean,” she warns.

The curious woman glances briefly at Anna before turning that penetrating stare back on Dean.

 

“Dean?” She asks. “Seriously?”

 

Dean’s jaw drops.

 

 

 

Then, to Castiel’s surprise, he darts forward, practically lifting her off her feet—pulling her in for a tight hug. She laughs, returning the grip.

“Jeez, I—“

“How the hell are you??”

 

The woman answers with a strange sound, and Dean responds—and then they’re off, happily babbling away in a language Castiel vaguely recognizes as Enochian.

He raises an eyebrow, throwing a sideways glance towards Anna. She just shrugs.

 

 

Castiel lets them carry on for a moment, then awkwardly clears his throat, and they both stop abruptly, turning to look at him.

“Sorry. Um.”

He looks to Anna for help, but she just holds up her hands. He gestures.

“Just—uh...what’s happening?”

 

Dean smacks his forehead.

“Sorry, introductions—“

He pulls the woman forward, practically beaming with excitement.

“This is one of my sisters—little, obviously. We go way back.”

The woman elbows Dean in the ribs.

“Only ‘cause you’re taller than me. I seem to remember we were all created at the same time.”

"Whatever."

 

Dean drapes an arm over her shoulder, gesturing towards the two Remingtons.

“This is Cas and Anna. I'm Anna's guardian," he finishes, smiling proudly. 

The other angel turns those bright eyes on them.

 

“Anna,” she repeats slowly, staring at her for a long moment before that piercing gaze slides to Castiel. He shifts uncomfortably, and the angel looks away—but not before he thinks he sees a strange flash in her eyes, something almost like recognition.

“And this is…Charlie,” Dean says, squinting at her nametag. He pulls a face. “You goin’ by Charlie now?”

“It’s way better than  _Dean_ ,” she snarks back.

"You got a chocolate factory somewhere I should know about?"

"Ha, ha. Keep joking, dork, and I'll disappear on your ass again."

"Yeah, about that."

 

Dean rubs the back of his neck, eyes on the floor.

"Where have you been? I thought you—I don't know." He lets out a short laugh. "First Sam, now you..."

A small smile crosses his face.

"I feel like Dad's actually watching out for me, y'know?"

 

Charlie reaches out, touching his arm.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I know it wasn't right."

"I was worried, man," Dean mutters.

Charlie bites her lip.

"I know. I kinda, just...skipped out."

Dean blinks at her.

"Just like that? And no one _noticed_?"

"I'm good at covering my tracks," Charlie says. "Besides. You think you're the first angel to invent rebellion?"

Dean grimaces. 

"So. You heard about that, huh."

She nods, letting out a short laugh.

"Yeah, I heard." She glances over at the two Remingtons. "Guess the whole 'statute of secrecy' thing is out the window, huh?"

Dean sighs.

"Extenuating circumstances."

 

Charlie doesn't ask him to elaborate. She just turns, leaning back against the wall, grinning at the two of them.

"Anna and Cas. Gotta say, I'm feeling a little starstruck. They talk about you all the time."

"They?" Anna asks, glancing at Castiel. Charlie nods quickly.

"The other angels. I may not be in the thick of things anymore, but I like keeping in the loop. They won't shut up about you," she says, pointing at Anna. "And they don't like you very much," she finishes, glancing at Castiel. "Sorry."

Castiel unconsciously rubs his side, muttering under his breath.

"No surprises there."

"Don't worry."

 

Charlie smiles.

"One of the reasons I left in the first place. They're a bunch of dicks. Dean's a good egg, though," she says, winking at him.  

Anna glances at Castiel, a smile playing around her lips.

Charlie suddenly claps her hands together, straightening. 

"So! What brings you to this fine establishment?" She grins. "You here to ask me to join your band of merry men?"

"Actually, we're in the market for a new phone," Dean says, gesturing around them.

"Dean destroyed my last one," Castiel says flatly.

Charlie snorts, throwing him a look.

"Typical."

Then she nudges Castiel, inclining her head.

"Don't worry. I got you. Come on back."

 

 

Trying to wrap his head around the fact that an actual angel of the Lord is working at a tech shop in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, USA—Castiel pulls out his wallet, insisting on paying. Charlie beckons him over to the register, an amused look on her face after seeing Castiel and Anna bicker over the model, the color, and then exactly which bogus credit card to use. 

"Brother and sister, huh?"

Castiel snorts.

"How ever did you guess," he says, with just the barest hint of sarcasm.

Charlie laughs.

"Let's just say I know how siblings fight. Besides."

She takes the phone from him, pressing a couple buttons.

“I can really see the family resemblance,” she says, a humorous note in her voice.

Castiel has to refrain from rolling his eyes. They get that a lot. More times then he could count, really. He knows he takes after their dad, dark hair and the height—but Anna looks more like her mom, from what they can tell from a couple of old photographs.

 

The worst is when people just automatically assume they're a couple. Gross.

 

 

"Here. Bonus."

Charlie glances around, then taps a finger against the screen, sending a burst of power through it.

“Jolted up the battery a bit,” she says as she hands it back to him. “You’ll never need to charge it.”

Castiel takes the phone, blinking.

“Um. I…” He looks up, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Thanks,” he says lamely.

Charlie winks.

“No problem.”

 

Dean comes up behind Castiel, leaning his elbows on the counter.

"Seriously, though, Charlie." He glances back at the store behind them, squinting a little at the starch saccharine lights. "Why are you working here?"

She shrugs.

"It's something to do."

"And, uh...you wanna take a break?" Dean asks, dropping his voice down low, a dangerous smile on his face. Charlie looks up too, grinning back.

"You know, I do think we're overdue for a hangout session."

Dean punches the air in victory.

"Yes!"

 

He grabs Charlie's hand and the back of Castiel's jacket—and then the world is dissolving around them. They land hard in the altar room of the church, Anna stumbling, Castiel nearly falling over—but Charlie is completely unfazed. She glances around, nodding approvingly.

"Nice digs."

 

Castiel immediately throws Dean’s hand off, sputtering about his car and towing fees and carjackers—

“Chill, Cas.”

Dean grabs the back of Castiel's collar, stopping him from running out the door.

“You got three angels in your corner. I think we can handle one little car.”

Castiel growls at him, until Dean finally relents, reappearing with the Impala five minutes later. Only then does Castiel allow himself to relax.

 

Charlie seems completely unperturbed by the change of plans—even though as far as everyone in her store knew, four people had just disappeared before their eyes. Castiel suspects she’s used to Dean pulling this sort of crap on her. When Anna asks her about it, Charlie just shrugs.

“Eh. I’ve had to make ‘em forget bigger things before.”

Anna glances at her.

“Like what?”

Charlie shrugs, suddenly hesitant

“I might have…given our manager a pig’s tail.”

“Might have _what?_ ”

“He was being a dick,” Charlie says defensively.

  

Castiel shrugs his pack off his shoulder as they near the kitchen, calling out.

“Gabe?”

 

Unsurprisingly, Gabriel’s hunched over the table, and predictably, Sam is right next to him, straightening as they enter the room.

“Hello, Anna,” he says curtly. “Castiel.”

Then Sam sees Charlie in the doorway and he freezes completely, his mouth falling open.

She rolls her eyes, stepping up to him.

“I—“

“Charlie,” she says. “Before you hurt yourself.”

“Charlie,” Sam breathes, beaming down at her. “It’s been too long."

She grins back too, then spreads her arms wide.

“Oh, get over here.”

She squeezes him tight, nearly dwarfed by him in size. She punches him on shoulder, looking him up and down as they part.

"Dude, what's with the threads?"

 

Sam frowns, looking down too.

“What?”

“Seriously." Charlie snorts. "You competing for tax-accountant look alike? Tightass lawyer?”

Sam’s brow furrows.

“This is our required dress. To express individuality is to express rebellion.”

“That ship has sailed, bro,” Dean says airily, knocking him with his elbow as he passes by, pizza boxes in hand, which he had just appeared with seconds before.

Sam thinks for a minute, then slowly removes his suit jacket, loosening his tie. He smiles hesitantly.

“That’s actually kinda nice.”

 

Dean slides the pizza on the table, turning to Charlie.

"Hey, um...we're gonna need some protection, if all three of us stay. I’m not exactly on everyone’s, uh…top 10 list right now.”

She chews her lip, nodding slightly.

“Yeah, good point."

Charlie cracks her knuckles, turning to the walls.

“'K. Gimme me a minute.”

 

 

Gabriel and Castiel start pulling out plates, Anna watching as Charlie murmurs under her breath, symbols coming to life on the walls—Enochian and other languages Castiel doesn't recognize—brief glowing stripes that settle and fade slightly. 

She lowers her hands, a small smirk on her face.

"Boom."

 

“Charlie is kind of an expert at symbols—best out there,” Dean says as she comes over to his side, sitting down next to him at the table. “She’s saved my ass more times than I can count.”

“And mine,” Sam adds, picking up a bottle opener and eyeing it critically. Gabriel snatches it back from him, plopping it back on the counter.

“Hold your horses, Sasquatch.”

Sam furrows his brow, and huffs, sweeping off to the table and sitting next to Charlie and Dean, who have dropped off into Enochian again. Despite no one discussing it, they’re apparently hosting the first ever angel-human dinner party, and in a church, no less.

Anna nudges Castiel as she brings the beers to the table, dropping her voice down low.

“So do we, uh…have to say grace or something?” She asks, smirking.

Castiel wrinkles his nose.

“God, I really hope not.”

 

Charlie readjusts her glasses, glancing at the wall behind her.

"That should hold you, come hell or high water. Besides. I'm always down to stick it to Lilith." She looks over at Dean. "She still in charge?"

Dean nods grimly.

"Unfortunately."

"Ugh. I never could stand her."

Dean snorts, and even Sam looks amused. Gabriel leans forward, crossing his arms on the table in front of him.

"So...how does the power actually work? The Enochian allows the protection to manifest itself, or..."

Charlie's eyes light up.

"Well—"

 

They all start helping themselves as Charlie and Gabriel dive into an engrossed conversation about sigils, Sam occasionally piping in. Castiel gets lost during the following argument, which surprisingly consists of a lot of quantum mechanics. Despite not needing to eat, all the angels help themselves, even Sam tentatively trying some.

 

It becomes an odd little occasion, three angels and three humans, crammed around a dining room table in an old church, temporary sigils winking in the light.

It’s home.

 

 

 

 

“I can’t believe it. No one’s seen you in—“

“Centuries, yeah. Sorry.”

“—and Dean manages to find you working in IT.”

“Why not?” Charlie asks indignantly, straightening in her seat. “They have good benefits.”

Gabriel sets down his water.

“Yeah, but you’re an angel.”

She shrugs.

“So? Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good dental plan.”

Sam and Castiel start to clear away the plates as Gabriel bickers with Anna about dessert.

“Well, _I_ can’t believe you talk to your charge,” Charlie says, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

Dean grimaces as Castiel sits down next to him again.

“Like I said. Extenuating circumstances.”

“Like what?”

Sam comes back from the sink, looking at her curiously.

“Charlie, don’t you know what’s going on?”

Charlie looks up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you mean the apocalypse?” She shrugs. “Trying not to get involved.”

 

 

Anna, Gabriel, and Castiel all freeze, but the angels don’t seem to notice.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean scoffs. “What else could you possibly have to do?”

“Fuck you, I was gonna go to Comic Con next week,” she retorts.

 

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, dangerously quiet. “Did you say ‘apocalypse’?”

 

 

Dean immediately stills, but Charlie only frowns, propping her cheek on her hand.

“Yeah. Apocalypse.” She glances at Anna. “That’s why Dean’s your guardian, isn’t it?”

 

Anna just stares at her, gaping.

Castiel grips the edge of the table.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me," he breathes, trying to keep his voice even.

 

Dean holds up his hands.

"Cas, wait—"

Castiel snaps his head up.

"The goddamn biblical  _apocalypse_?"

Charlie is frozen, her mouth open. Dean shakes his head, stammering.

"It's not what it sounds like—"

"Revelations, fire, brimstone, all that nonsense—that's  _real_?"

 

 

They all stare at him, Sam tense by his side. Anna's hand finds Castiel's under the table, and he grips it tight.

"Yes," Dean says eventually, his voice small. "Some things mighta gotten lost in translation over the years...but, yeah. Been part of the plan since the world was created."

 

Anna is trembling.

"And that's what I'm supposed to be a vessel for?" 

"Anna," Sam says quietly. But she snarls at him.

"No. No friggin' way."

She shoves her chair back, standing and turning away from the table, trying to get herself under control. 

 

“And you knew," Castiel mutters darkly. "You knew about this.”

Dean shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

Castiel lets out a bark of a laugh, rubbing his knuckles. Of course,  _of_   _course_ —he should have known, he should have expected this.

“So that’s the big fight that’s coming? The goddamn _apocalypse_ …”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I mean…”

Dean tries to laugh, a sheepish look on his face.

“Kind of a hard sell, you know?”

“Fuck you,” Gabriel spits.

“Watch it,” Sam snaps.

 

Gabriel glares at him, murder in his eyes. Dean sinks his head in his hands, staring mutely down at the table.

 

"Dean," Charlie says softly. "I...have something to tell you."

He doesn't move. She glances over him at Sam, who is staring at her.

 

“I’ve been, um, trying to stay out of it, but, uh…” Charlie trails off, picking at her fingers. “I did hear one thing. Might have, uh, hacked into the superiors’ level of angel radio.”

She shifts uneasily, looking back and forth between Sam and Dean.

“But you’re not gonna like it.”

Sam tilts his head.

“Charlie. What it is?”

She bites her lip.

“I mean—that’s how I heard about Dean in the first place, they said their plan had been thrown off by a rogue guardian. A plan to take a vessel. For…”

Charlie swallows.

“For Alastair."

 

 

Dean snaps his head up. Sam quickly stands, holding up a hand.

“Charlie. Are you—are you  _sure_ —“

“Who is Alastair?” Castiel growls. Dean is still as a statue, not saying a word.

“Alastair…” Gabriel says.

Anna looks at him sharply. Gabriel is thinking hard, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s one of the archangels.”

“ _What_?”

“One of the archangels,” Sam jumps in. “He rules Heaven. With an iron fist, some would say,” he finishes, a dark expression on his face.

“His vessel,” Anna repeats, shocked. “Me.”

 

Dean suddenly snaps.

“No,” he breathes. “No.”

He stands so suddenly his chair goes flying, and they all flinch at the harsh clatter of wood. 

“ _No_ ," Dean yells, and the light above them crackles and sparks. Castiel recoils.

“Dean, calm down—“

“No, Sam—“

Charlie stands, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. Dean freezes. He clenches and unclenches his fists, shaking.

 

Anna stares at them, horrified. Gabriel steps in front of her, glaring at Sam.

“What do you mean by vessel? What is that?”

“Angels need to possess someone to take physical form on Earth,” Charlie mutters. “Alastair is no exception.”

“He’ll take his one true vessel and face his enemy on the chosen field,” Sam recites darkly, his eyes glazing over a bit. “And the Lord will see that there is peace.”

 

Dean finally speaks.

“It’s horrible,” he whispers. “Wiping out half of humanity, all for the sake of some Stepford paradise.” He laughs bitterly. “Apparently they don’t remember, but we’re supposed to be your shepherds, not your slaughterers.”

 

"Alastair."

Gabriel is still.

"I knew I recognized that name." He looks at Sam. "That's the archangel that cast the devil down."

 

 

Castiel's really glad he's already sitting down.

"The devil," he repeats, his voice barely more than a whisper. Anna looks like she might pass out.

"As in  _the_ devil?"

"C'mon, Cas."

Gabriel turns to him, a half-hearted attempt at a smile on his face. 

"We found out angels and even _God_ is real. You really find it hard to believe that the devil is too?"

 

 

“You didn’t know?” Sam asks softly.

 

Anna and Castiel stare at him. Sam's tense expression briefly melts into pity.

“You really don’t know. You have no idea what you let out,” he murmurs.

“Let out?” Anna whispers hoarsely.

 

Sam nods slowly.

“You never wondered? You never wanted to know what escaped through that Hell Gate?”

Castiel glares at him.

Demons, of course—that was Raphael’s plan all along. He tricked them into opening the portal, releasing his twisted family. What else was there?

Sam lowers his gaze.

“Her name is Abaddon," he says softly.

 

Castiel feels a chill run down his spine at the very name.

 

"You're saying we let the damn devil out?" He breathes.

Anna pales.

“Holy crap,” she whispers. “I sentenced the world to die.”

 

 

Sam shakes his head.

"It was destined. There was no other way it could have happened. You were always meant to open that portal."

But instead of comforting her, Anna looks even more horrified.

"So then, Raphael...Cas going to Hell—that was God's plan all along?"

 

He nods gravely.

"Yes."

 

Castiel swallows, his throat burning.

 

"There used to be four archangels," Sam continues. "They were the only ones left. Abaddon refused to bow down to humans, and for that, Alastair cast her down into Hell. The fight fractured Heaven—brother fighting against brother. Remiel was killed, Sariel had long since vanished by then."

Charlie bites her lip, watching him.

"And the apocalypse...it's round two," Sam says. "Alastair wins, it's so called paradise. Abaddon wins..."

"She razes the earth to the ground," Dean finishes darkly.

 

"And why hasn't she gotten started on that?" Gabriel looks between the three angels, his brow furrowed. "What's she been doing? Everything seems as normal—well, our fucked up definition of normal. Why hasn't she started destroying the world?"

"That cage was designed to keep her locked away." Sam exhales deeply, looking tired. "Breaking out probably took a lot out of her. And the garrison believes she hasn't taken a vessel."

Dean still hasn't moved, but Charlie is watching Sam as he explains, her expression darkening rapidly.

"There have been omens, of course," Sam continues. "And that's why Heaven hasn't caught up to us yet. They've got their hands full, dealing with the fallout."

 

"How do you know all of that, Sam?" Charlie asks quietly.

 

The air in the room seems to chill. Charlie is staring at him, not blinking. 

"Lilith has me on the case," Sam says slowly. He looks unsettled.

"He's playing for both sides, Charlie," Dean says. She ignores him, still utterly focused on Sam.

"And why did you agree in the first place?"

Sam glances at Dean.

"Penance," he says stiffly. Charlie slowly steps forward.

"Dean said first you, now me," she says, her eyes searching his face. "Where were you, Sam?"

Her voice drops to a whisper.

"Where have you been?"

 

Sam's eyes are darting everywhere.

"Heaven," he answers shortly.

"In jail," Charlie breathes. Her face shifts suddenly, dawning with realization.

"You fought for her."

 

All of them start.

" _What_?"

 

Sam whirls.

"No, wait—listen—"

" _You fought on Abaddon's side_?"

Dean quickly steps between them, trying to shield Sam from Castiel's rage.

"Cas, listen—"

“You said we could trust him—how do you know he’s not leading us right into her hands?” Castiel yells.

Sam’s face is twisted in pain, but there’s anger there too.

“I was deceived,” he says lowly. “I would never have followed her if I knew—I never dreamed she’d—“

Sam stops, clenching his fists.

“Anna.”

 

He turns to her, taking a slow step forward. She doesn’t move, but Castiel sees her hand move to her gun.

“You of all people should know what it’s like,” he whispers. “To be deceived in that way.”

Anna stares at him, frozen, her expression a mixture of fear and shock and anger. Sam shakes his head.

“All I did was to save my family. That’s all I wanted.”

He's almost begging, pleading with them to understand.

"It was chaos back then. It was when God left. None of us knew what to do, we had no guidance, no order, no Father—"

Charlie is silent, her arms tightly crossed, watching him like a hawk.

"She tricked me," Sam whispers. "I swear to you. I didn't know."

 

"I thought all of Abaddon's followers were killed," Charlie says.

"Dean saved my life," Sam says quietly. 

Castiel looks sharply at him.

 

 

“I will never be able to atone for what I did,” Sam mutters. “Which is why I offer myself to you now."

They are all silent, exchanging tense looks. Sam waits for judgment, his head bowed. Finally Castiel speaks up, his throat choked.

“You’re on thin ice,” he says. “One wrong step, one slip—“

Sam nods hurriedly, his relief bleeding through.

“I understand.”

 

 

The air is thick with tension, none of them daring to speak a word. Castiel's head is a mess, buzzing with the earth-shattering realizations of the past hour.

 

 

"Screw it."

 

 

Dean finally breaks the silence.

"Screw everything else." He turns to Anna, fire in his eyes. "I'm not letting Alastair anywhere near you. Never. You understand me?"

She's so surprised, she nods.

"I know," she says softly. And she isn't lying.

 

 

Castiel tries to breathe, his heart pounding in his chest. Gabriel is still in the corner, lost in thought. Anna twists her hands together, curling in on herself.

"I...I think I need to be alone right now," she says, her voice cracking.

She draws in a shaking breath.

"Can you please go?" She whispers.

 

Dean's face flashes with pain, but he doesn't seem surprised. Charlie takes Sam aside, whispering in low tones. After a moment, they fall quiet, and give the rest of them a brief nod. 

And then they're gone.

 

 

Gabriel wordlessly starts cleaning up, leaving Castiel and Dean alone.

 

 

 

Dean sighs tiredly, pushing a hand through his tousled hair.

“Guess I’ll be heading out too.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything.

He wants to be furious at him. He wants to be angry, and he has every right to be, but he suddenly realizes, he doesn't want to fight anymore.

 

Dean sees his silence and lowers his head.

“Bye,” he mumbles. “I guess.”

“Dean.”

 

He looks up, and Castiel meets his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me again.”

Dean doesn’t say a word.

 

 

“Because next time, I won’t forgive you.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rips hair out over plot*  
> thanks for sticking with me, y'all. As a reward for being so patient, I'll try to upload the next chapter in maybe two or three days :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as promised, here you go :)  
> basically, everyone gets wasted.
> 
>  
> 
> warnings:  
> alcohol, descriptions of hell, (temporary/canonical) character death

Castiel comes back to an empty house.

 

He’s not really sure where Anna is. She might have gone to one of the warm bars in the small town nearby, or retreated to the refuge of the library, but Castiel can’t help but feel a little worried. She had been sulking ever since the encounter with Charlie, despite all of Gabriel’s and Castiel’s attempts to cheer her up.

Finding out you basically fucked the world over isn’t exactly a morale boost.

 

He’s about to text her, when his phone rings in his hand.

Castiel frowns, pressing it to his ear.

“Gabriel?”

“Cas, please I need your help—“

“Gabe—what—“

Castiel panics.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“No time—“ He says, breathless. “Just get here, get to my house.”

The line goes dead, and Castiel swallows, his heart thumping.

 

He dashes to his car, only stopping to grab his shotgun and the angel blade Dean gave him, speeding down the highway. He pulls off onto the exit towards Gabriel’s house, his thoughts whirling. What happened? Maybe Gabriel's in trouble, or he found something, about the angels, or Alastair—?

Castiel barges through the front door, looking around wildly.

“Gabriel? Gabriel!”

When he doesn’t respond, he starts running down the hall, checking every room.

“Gabriel!” He shouts again.

“Cas?”

 

Castiel rounds the corner to see Sam and Dean, each holding their angel blades, staring at him with twin expressions of confusion. Castiel halts, wheezing. 

Dean looks him up and down, frowning.

“What are you doing here?”

Castiel is taken aback.

“Me? What are you—“

He stops, trying to catch his breath. Sam tilts his head.

“Gabriel prayed to us,” he explains. “Said it was life or death, and told us to come down here.”

“Gabriel told you—“

Castiel breaks off, realizing.

 

Then he groans.

“Goddammit.”

Dean squints.

“What—“

“Hey, you made it!”

 

Gabriel darts in, throwing an arm around each of the angels. Sam narrows his eyes.

“Yes. We did,” he says slowly, removing the arm from his shoulder. “What is going on?”

Gabe smiles mischievously, that saccharine smile of his that always comes out when he's up to no good.

“Well. It’s Friday.”

Dean shoots a glance over at Castiel. He shrugs, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

“Yeah? So?” Sam prompts, his face skeptical.

“ _So_ —“

Gabriel shoos them over to the great wood table, producing several glasses and a heavy bottle from somewhere, plunking them down.

“Friday is humanity’s favorite night to get drunk.”

 

Castiel’s jaw drops. Dean blinks for a minute, then bursts out laughing, clapping a hand over his mouth. Sam is stony-faced, like he’s debating whether or not to strangle Gabriel right then and there.

“Dude, are you serious?” Castiel hisses. He knew Gabe was up to something, but _drinking?_ With angels, Jesus Christ—he can’t believe his stupid, idiot, cousin—

Gabe scoffs at him, rolling his eyes.

“C’mon, Cas, I’ve been dying to do this.”

“Gabriel…” 

“Dude. No.” He gives Castiel a serious look, nodding gravely. “This is for science.”

 

Castiel groans again. Dean is snickering, and Sam has an incredulous look on his face. He picks up one of the small glasses in front of him.

“What is this?” Sam asks, voice clipped.

“This—“ Gabriel says, starting to pour out the golden liquid. “Is tequila. And it’s a gift from the gods.”

Sam squints.

“Okay, gift from _the_ God.” Gabe snatches the glass from Sam’s hand, filling it up and plonking it back down on the table. “Just try it.”

“Gabe, really, I don’t know if—“

“Oh, come on, Cas-tee-ell.” Gabriel claps a hand on his shoulder and guides him over to a chair, sitting him down. “Don’t you want to know what happens when an angel gets completely, absolutely, mind-numbingly drunk?” He flashes him a wicked smile. “Because I sure do.”

He winks at Sam, who is frowning. Castiel huffs, about to make another argument, but Gabriel catches his elbow.

“C’mon, Cas.” He drops his voice down low. “I think we all need it.”

 

Castiel exhales slowly, shutting his eyes.

“Fine.”

 

Gabriel’s eyes light up.

“What was that?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Castiel says again, crossing his arms.

Dean nudges his brother.

“What do you think, Sammy?”

Sam just gives him an annoyed look. Dean’s face splits into a wide grin.

“That’s the spirit.”

 

The angels sit down across from them, Sam a little hesitantly, Dean practically levitating out of his chair. All four of them stare at the glasses in between them on the table.

Gabriel gestures.

“Well?”

Well.

Dean doesn’t need any more encouraging.

 

He reaches out, taking the first glass and swallowing it down. They watch, stunned, as the second one goes, then a third, fourth, and fifth.

Dean sits back, wiping his lips. Castiel stares at him, openmouthed.

“Hoo.” Dean whistles. He blinks a couple times, flexing his fingers experimentally. “Okay. I think I’m starting to feel it.”

 

Gabriel stands, laughing.

“Oh, and we’re just getting started.”

He tops off the glasses again, nudging one towards Sam.

“What about you, Sasquatch?” He says, leering. “Gonna show up your big brother?” He presses a hand to his chest, preening. “I, for one, can drink Cas here under the table.”

“Says you,” Castiel grumbles. His pride was threatening to flare up at that, but still…

This is highly embarrassing. Not to mention all kinds of wrong. How sacrilegious is intentionally getting angels drunk?

And off tequila, no less. Maybe if they had some sacramental wine…

 

 

But Gabriel is incessant, filling up shot after shot even after they tell him they can’t possibly keep going, and when he whips out the deck of cards, it’s all over.

They explain exactly how the drinking game works and crack out the beer. Sam takes to it exceptionally well, surprising them all, and by the time Castiel reaches the bottom of his third (fourth?) glass, he’s feeling all warm and light.

 

They had been talking about something, Castiel can’t quite remember, but Dean’s face is suddenly pulling away from him and frowning, looking around the room.

“Gabe, dude. What’s up with that piece of crap?” He asks, indicating the radio in the corner.

Gabriel looks to where he’s pointing and rolls his eyes.

“Ugh, that thing. Hasn’t worked in years.” He teeters a little. “Just never get around to throwing it out.”

“Man, we need some tuuuuunes—“

Dean stands, swaying slightly, and crosses over to the radio. He hits it with a fist and it sputters to life, blaring out some rock song.

_All our times have come_

“Ah, sweet—“

_Here, but now they’re gone_

Dean saunters back over to the table, smiling triumphantly, but Gabriel isn’t paying attention anymore. He’s slumped over Sam’s shoulder, and they’ve sunk back into their conversation, talking animatedly about some book, gushing about their favorite passages, Castiel doesn’t know. He isn’t really listening. The air seems slightly fuzzy, the room too warm, his tongue dry—

Dean slams his hands on the table. Castiel jerks out of his fog, blinking up at him.

 

“Come on.”

“What—?“

Dean seizes his hands and pulls him up, twirling around him.

 

“What are you doing—“

“Shut up, just go with it.”

 

Dean grabs his waist and pulls him in, whirling around in circles, galloping around in time to the music.

 

“ _Seasons don’t fear the reaper, nor do the wind nor the sun or the rain_ —“ Dean sings loudly, spinning Castiel. Sam and Gabriel are laughing at them, nearly folding over in hysterics. Castiel scowls and tries to flip them off, but only succeeds in tripping over his own feet. Dean catches him and scoops him closer, twining their fingers together.

“ _Baby, take my hand_ —“

Castiel can’t think. Dean pulls him closer, breathless. Their hips are touching dangerously, his hand on the back of his neck—

“ _Baby, I’m your man_ —”

Dean’s lips at his ear—

They swing around again, and Dean trips, sprawling.

“Whoops—“

 

Castiel catches him just in time, his heart thumping, choking back laughter.

“You—“ He tries to help him up. “You are the clumsiest angel I’ve ever met.”

Dean snorts, smiling up at him goofily. Castiel’s stomach flips.

Dean tries to stand, but his legs give out, sinking in Castiel’s arms again.

“Whoa,” he mumbles, falling against him. “Strange.”

Castiel tries to ignore the feeling of Dean’s head against his chest, his labored breathing as he closes his eyes. They're too close, this is too close.

“Hey,” Castiel laughs, poking him. “You awake?”

“No,” Dean mumbles. “Wanna sleep.”

Castiel hikes him up, reluctantly pushing him back into his seat.

“You don’t need to sleep, you ass.”

“Oh. Right.”

Dean settles sloppily in the chair, and Castiel falls into the seat next to him. He shoves a hand through his hair, breathing hard. He tries to look at anything other than the angel to his left, because if he does, he doesn’t think he’d be able to keep himself from doing something stupid. Like monumentally, sacrilegiously, stupid.

 

 

So he pulls Gabriel toward him and just starts babbling about the first thing that comes to his mind. Dean seems to regain a little bit of his senses, and he leans forward languidly, reaching across the table to nudge at Sam.

“Hey, Sammy—hey. Hey. How you doin’?”

Sam squints at him, like he’s just remembering Dean’s there.

“I…I feel weird.”

He waves a hand in front of his face, turning it over and staring at his palm, like it holds the secrets of the universe.

“I think I’m seeing the seventh plane.”

“You are not, you’re such a liar—“

They continue to bicker back and forth as Gabriel starts to laugh, and Castiel sinks his head on his hand, wanting to burst.

This is just so bizarre. Two angels, one mischievous tricky prankster, one man recently returned from the dead—all gathered together and getting ridiculously drunk off tequila and beer.

There's something beautifully profane about the whole thing.

 

 

“More beer!” Gabriel shouts, standing.

 

All three of them react differently—Dean whoops, Sam just wobbles, but Castiel groans, planting his face on the table.

“Noooo,” he mumbles. “No more.”

Gabriel ignores him and pours them all another round, and Castiel doesn’t even realize what’s happening until he’s under Dean’s arm.

“Too uptight, Cas," he whispers.

His breath is hot and sweet as he sinks against him.

“Gotta—gotta let go once in a while,” Dean whispers.

Castiel struggles against the haze in his brain. They’re sitting right across from Sam and Gabriel, but for all he knows, it feels like they’re alone, that the world’s confined to just the space in between them, only Dean’s voice in his ears.

 

Castiel licks his lips. Dean’s mouth is very nice. Very close, and very nice.

 

 

“So nice…finally, so great—” Dean is saying, and Castiel pulls himself to the surface long enough to focus on his words.

“Wh…what?”

The arm over his shoulder reaches, pulling them way too close, and Dean grabs his hand.

“ _You_ , Cas, Jeez—“

Their fingers intertwine, twisting together as Dean’s other hand finds his thigh, the touch warm and electric.

“Can’t believe it…”

His nose brushes the skin of his neck, so close, so dangerously close. Castiel shivers, leaning into the touch.

“Just to talk to you, Cas, finally, after all these years,” he murmurs, his head now on Castiel’s shoulder.

Despite the warm haze settling through him, Castiel frowns blearily.

_What is he talking about?_

 

The door bangs open behind them, and they jerk apart, blushing. Anna’s standing in the doorway, taking in the scene.

 

“Oh, shit.” Gabriel whispers.

Castiel swallows. Now they're in for it.

 

Anna crosses her arms.

“What are you doing?”

Castiel stares at her, gaping. Gabriel isn’t helping either.

It’s Dean who finally rescues them, popping up and darting over to Anna's side, grabbing her arm.

“Gabe is introducing us to the wonders of tequila,” he bubbles, pulling her over to the table. “And it is…wow. Just…just really great.”

He grins and slips, falling against her. Anna supports him, smirking.

“Jesus—how much have you had?”

 

Gabriel stands unsteadily.

“Well.”

 

He peers at Castiel, patting him on the head.

“This one’s got about eight shots and several beers under his belt, and I am very much the same, whereas these two—“ He gestures vaguely in the angels’ direction. “They’re somewhere upwards of thirty.”

Anna stares.

“Thirty?”

Dean grins, clapping a hand on her arm. Castiel follows the movement.

“Angel stamina, darlin’,” Dean says, tugging her over to the table. “But, hey, hey.”

He nudges her a glass, his smile wide.

“What about yoooou, huh? Think you can take us on?”

 

For a moment, Anna looks hesitant, and Castiel sees it—that slight edge of unease on her face that they hadn’t been able to shake in the past couple of days.

But then it’s gone, and she straightens, giving Dean her cockiest grin.

“Oh, I think so.”

She raps her knuckles on the table.

“Alright, Gabriel, deal me in. No way I’m getting trumped by my stick-up-the-ass brother.”

Castiel scowls and tries to elbow her, but he misses, almost falling into her lap.

“Oh, dude, pull it together—“

Anna pushes him away, and he ends up stumbling, leaning against Sam. Sam puts out an arm to steady Castiel, even though he’s not looking too steady himself.

 

Anna puts them all to shame, and soon they’re all delightfully drunk, singing, dancing, talking about everything and nothing. Dean and Sam start telling them stories about Heaven and angels, and it isn’t long until Gabriel jumps in with his own embarrassing anecdotes from their childhood. Castiel buries his face in his hands. At least they hadn’t mentioned the time he got stuck up on the roof—

“Hey, what about that time Cas climbed up on top of the church and couldn’t get down?”

Castiel groans.

“Okay, not listening to this.”

He pushes away from the table, starting down the hall.

“Aw, come on, don’t be such a party pooper—“

“Just going to the bathroom, Gabriel,” he says, giving him a look. “Be done embarrassing me by the time I get back.”

 

 

Castiel leaves the laughter behind him and stumbles down the hallway, managing to make it to the bathroom. He puts out a hand to steady himself against the wall, taking a deep breath.

Shit. He hasn’t been this drunk in a while.

At least not with other people, Castiel admits sourly.

Or with angels, Jesus.

 

And it's actually fun. Castiel can’t remember ever having fun like this before his brief stint in Hell. Anna and Gabriel are great, but they don’t really have any friends. And now they had formed this motley crew, this unlikely gang, pushed together by fate and circumstance, and they're actually having _fun._

And with an apocalypse hanging over their heads, no less. Christ.

 

Castiel inhales unsteadily, pressing an arm against the wall.

And Dean—God, Dean.

Castiel remembers the way his breath had curled against his cheek, Dean’s hands on his body, and a rush of heat burns through him, twisting in his gut and sending all the blood rushing south.

Castiel looks down, and he’s suddenly very grateful that he’s too drunk.

 

He eventually zips up his pants and unsteadily makes his way back to the study. Gabriel’s done with his story, now messing with the radio, Sam dutifully watching over him. But Dean and Anna are still at the table, whispering conspiratorially. Castiel sees her laugh, and she tips her head as he whispers in her ear, Dean’s hand circling her waist.

 

 

Castiel suddenly feels sick.

 

 

He clears his throat, and Dean looks over his shoulder, startled.

“Cas—“

“Gonna go to bed, I think.” Castiel says evenly, not looking at him. Anna mock frowns at him.

“Aw, come on, Cas, you’re not _that_ old.”

Castiel fakes a smile.

“Just don’t have your stamina, Red.”

Anna pouts, but holds out an arm for a hug goodnight.

“Okay.” She smiles, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Sweet dreams.”

Castiel nods, and turns away without saying a word to him.

 

He gets to the spare room, and he stands there, a hand on the light switch, reeling.

The warm buzz searing beneath his skin has turned sour and sick, and he feels like throwing up.

 

_Of course it’s her, why wouldn’t it be her—_

 

Castiel barely makes it to the bathroom in time before he heaves, vomiting into the porcelain bowl. The music keeps on from the living room. No one comes to check on him.

 

 

He rinses out his mouth and stumbles back to the room, sinking into bed without bothering to take off his clothes.

 

_She’s so much better than I am._

 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes, the uneasy feeling is still there, a heavy pit in his stomach.

 

 

x

 

 

Driving hungover is not nearly as fun as it sounds.

Of course, just being hungover isn’t really fun to begin with.

 

Anna and Gabriel are just peachy keen, going about their business as usual, and Gabriel sings obnoxiously loud at the top of his lungs, until Castiel finally decides he’s had enough and retreats to his room, intending to take a nice long nap.

He shrugs off his jacket and sinks into his desk chair, holding his head in his hands. He breathes for a moment, trying to will himself to pull off his boots so he can clamber into bed. He swivels slowly and starts tugging at the laces, but then Dean flashes in and he nearly falls over.

 

Castiel peeks up an indignant eye at him, scowling as best as he can. Dean smirks.

“How we feeling this morning?”

Unable to muster the energy to curse him, Castiel just flips him off. Dean laughs.

“You know, I could help with that,” he says, wiggling his fingers teasingly.

Castiel rolls his eyes and immediately regrets it. He kneads his temples, trying to massage some of the pain out.

“Anna’s right, you are a lightweight.”

Hearing his sister’s name on Dean’s lips infuriates him, and his temper flares.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” Castiel snaps. “Either do something useful or leave me alone.”

 

Dean pauses, the grin sliding off his face.

“What’s crawled up your butt today?”

 

Castiel knows he should apologize, but the green monster of jealousy is rearing its ugly head inside his skull. He shucks his boots off and turns his back, propping his forehead on his hand.

“What do you want?”

Dean looks taken aback, that Castiel is suddenly snappish and short with him.

“I don’t know, I mean—we could—“

Dean stops, closing his mouth, his lips pressed into a tight line. Castiel looks up.

 

No, really. Why is Dean here? They don’t have any leads on Alastair, there's no pressing hunt…but here Dean is, in his room, just…because?

His aching brain can’t comprehend this.

 

Castiel scoffs, unable to throw a last snide remark his way.

“I’m going to bed. You can go hang with the others, seeing as that’s more preferable. Or I don’t know. Go lie about something else.”

 

Dean is silent behind him as Castiel slips into bed, pulling the covers over his head.

Dean doesn’t say anything else, and Castiel doesn’t hear him leave.

He bunches up the pillow in his hands and squeezes his eyes tight, focusing on his breath until he slips off into sleep.

 

 

 

He dreams of death and smoke and fire.

 

 

xxx

 

 

It needed blood.

 

That’s what the lying bastard Raphael had told them, before Anna screamed and stabbed him in the heart for his betrayal.

And even though he had died—died in a crackling heat of orange sparks—the demon hadn’t been lying.

It was the one thing he told them that happened to be true.

 

They shrug back from his body, holding on to each other with a sort of desperation that one could only learn from seeing the end of the world—fumbling hands and terrified gasps as the Hell Gate beneath their feet begins to throb, opening up.

 

She grabs his arm, pulling him back.

They spill outside, the air broken and fractured. They dive to the ground just as it breaks from its cage, the world around them bleeding.

A crack splits the pavement—not two feet from them—and they scramble away, stumbling to the car, clinging to each other. They watch in horrified awe as a pulsing tower of light explodes from the building and shatters the sky above them, power raining down and breaking the earth beneath.

They fall against the metal, cowering as another bolt crackles through the sky, stinging through their blood and whipping them back.

The swirling power thunders and the ground shakes again.

 

She’s yelling, screaming at him to run, but they can’t. He knows they can’t.

 

He pushes himself up on trembling hands, feeling the ground move beneath him. The earth is shaking, an angry pulsing hole forming in the remnants of the building. And if they left, ran away now—every hateful thing would spill forth, raze their world to ruins—and then finally, finally—

It would destroy them.

If it didn’t have the blood.

 

Castiel finds Anna’s eyes. They’re a dark terrified green—wide and staring at the madness they had unleashed.

“You opened it,” he breathes. “You opened the door.”

Her hand fumbles, grasping his own, where it’s clamped tight around her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to—“ She gasps. “I’m sorry—“

Castiel’s eyes slide out of focus, and he clings on tighter, voice quiet, even as the chaos rages around them.

 

“And only you can stop it,” he whispers softly.

His heart is numb.

“Your blood.”

 

Anna’s frozen fingers find his sleeve, clinging tight.

“I’m sorry—“

She starts to cry.

“I’m sorry.”

Her head sinks to his shoulder, and Castiel shudders. He leans down, pressing a shaky kiss to her temple, feeling the brief relaxation in her shoulders as a reward.

“Our blood,” he whispers finally, his hands curling around her wrist.

 

She stills, eyes widening in horror.

“No,” she breathes. “Cas—Cas _, no_ —”

 

 

But it’s too late.

 

 

 

He grabs her and shoves her back, twisting her wrist up into the handcuff, trapping her against the car.

 

She stares for a moment, motionless.

Then she snaps.

 

 

_“NO—“_

 

 

She rages at him, thrashing against the side of the car.

“No, _no_ —you son of a bitch, _don’t you_ _dare_ —“

He backs away from her, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry.”

Anna yanks at her restraints, yelling.

“Cas, _don’t_ —please—“

Castiel closes his eyes.

“ _Please_ ,” she begs.

 

Castiel is numb.

“I’m sorry, Anna,” he whispers.

 

She screams for him.

“No, no, _Cas_ —”

Sharp clanks follow him as she struggles against her bonds, desperate cries, the last word he’ll ever hear her say.

 

 

_“CASTIEL!”_

 

 

 

He runs.

 

Her screams follow him as he runs—runs, because he can’t do anything else—diving back into the collapsing building and struggling through the fire and haze and smoke, coughing as he gets closer to the portal. He rounds the corner, but he falls—his legs giving out as it hits him—power digging into his heart and pushing him back. It seems the closer he gets, the harder it is, like his limbs don’t work anymore.

 

He struggles up.

He can see it now, a pulsing wound, a crack in the universe—and he throws himself forward, his hands scraping uselessly at the ground beneath him.

 

It crackles before him, sharp and menacing.

 

He nearly turns away, nearly tears himself away from the power and the fear. He crumbles before it, digging his fingers into the ground, knuckles tearing against the concrete, bright red blooming forth.

“It’s not fair,” he gasps, his voice choked with tears. “It’s not _fair_ —“

He's only twenty-five, his life had barely begun, and there's so much he hasn’t done—

 

He stills against the broken earth, closing his eyes.

 

He pictures her face. He remembers all those they had saved, all those that would suffer if he didn’t take that final step, and he knows. He knows he doesn’t have a choice.

He never had a choice.

 

Another timber breaks and the walls crack around him—but he pushes himself up, standing tall.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, fighting back tears. He breathes deep, steeling himself as the air around him shatters again, sending a pulsing bolt through the earth beneath his feet.

He opens his eyes and stares down the gaping void. He fights back every instinct telling him to turn and run.

He curls his fingers softly, his nails scraping against his palm. The break shudders again and he doesn’t bother with thinking anymore.

 

He jumps.

 

The power seizes him, grabs him and sucks him under headfirst—and for a brief blissful second he feels nothing. Only peace.

 

Then, pain.

 

 

Infinite, burning, pain—his skin torn and left raw, eyes blind and bleeding. He screams, screams until his voice is raw and bloody, until his lungs rip and his throat bursts, gnarled black claws digging into him, piercing, pulling him down.

Searing, biting—and he falls, falls…

He sinks into the white light around him, swallowing and dragging him under, down into the pit, to smoke, to fire.

To Hell.

 

He fights against it, and he manages to surface long enough, using his last breath, his last taste of the earth above him—

Castiel pushes back against it just long enough to whisper two words.

 

_I’m sorry._

xxx

Dean stares, not comprehending.

 

She is trapped against the car, writhing and crying, as the building shakes and trembles in front of them. Dean wants to wrench himself away from the power contained in that building. He can feel the poisonous energy sipping and piercing into his body, clawing at the edges of his grace.

 

But even as they stand there, watching—the power suddenly sucks back—collapses and disappears.

And the night is still.

 

 

 

She freezes, staring at the now silent building.

“No,” she whispers. “No.”

She tugs at her holds, screaming.

_“NO—“_

 

 

 

Dean does not understand. He cannot understand.

 

 

Anna is shaking, crying, and he doesn’t know what to do. Her voice is unlike anything he’s ever heard.

 

Dean feels himself fall, his back hitting the concrete. He’s not sure he’s ever experienced the sensation before. His heart is black and something horrible is clenched around his gut.

 

She fumbles with the lockpick that she dropped in her desperation earlier, cursing and sobbing.

“No, god—goddamn it, _no_.”

She finally wrenches herself free, and she bolts up, running towards the skeleton of a building.

Dean struggles up to sitting position, staring after her, unseeing.

 

Where is he?

 

Castiel. _Castiel._

Dean clumsily pushes himself up, his legs shaking under his full weight as he stands. His heart is pounding, lungs working desperately, even though he doesn’t need it. He could stand here with a still heart and a breathless body, and he would still feel fuller than he feels now.

He starts to run. He runs even though he doesn’t have to, because he needs to feel something—some exertion, some pain. Something in this earthbound prison that is cloaking his grace, choking him.

He needs to feel something. Anything.

 

The night is lightening, the sun gently peeking over the horizon. Dean rounds the corner, and there—

The remnants of the door. The burnt out shell.

And a head of wild red hair, hunched over in grief, cradling something in her arms.

 

Dean falls to his knees.

 

_Not him._

The world seems to fly away from him, planes of existence all jumbling together, like a curse. Colors shifting, vision blurring.

_Please,_ he prays. _Not him._

Dean crawls closer, shaking.

This shouldn’t have happened.

 

He knows the events of that night—the echoes of it still are bounding around the metal around him, the memories fresh in her mind, bleeding out of her in anguish. They wash over him in dark streams of choking fog, and Dean reels. His own sadness is doubled, multiplied a thousand times over again as he feels the pain from his ward’s mind hit his own, and they cry together on the stone floor.

 

He should have been there. Anna was in danger—she had almost died, she was _supposed_ to die—that’s what the demons had planned all along. Open the portal, release all those twisted things—but also one of the old beings, older than time itself—and now it was walking free, amongst the humans, bent on killing them all.

Dean weeps, his face in his hands.

Why hadn’t he been there to save her? Why didn’t his grace drag him here at the first hint of danger, ready to swoop in and destroy them with a wave of his hand?

 

He could have prevented this.

He could have saved him.

 

 

It's old magic, so old, and Dean cowers as the vestiges of it wash through the room, staining his heart.

It pains him physically, just to be near it, to where the rift in the universe had been. It's a horrible, evil thing, because the world could have been torn apart, everything could have ended, all of existence destroyed without the blood to tame it—

 

But Castiel had stopped it.

 

He had sacrificed himself.

 

 

Dean watches in a kind of murky haze. The harsh memories sluice out of her, and Dean crumples, holding his head in his hands.

It swirls in front of him, a sick imitation. He sees Castiel push her back and run away, heartbreaking desperation on his face.

Oh, that face.

The same beautiful face that had ran away with a smile, because he had saved them. He had saved her.

But now…?

 

Anna cries into the coat, that stupid coat that he insisted on wearing almost every day, and Dean can’t help it.

 

He burns.

 

 

He wants to scream and cry with the injustice of it all. It's not fair, God—it's not _fair_ —

Anna is a beautiful soul. She deserves the protection Heaven has bestowed on her, yes—but why didn’t he?

Why doesn’t Castiel deserve the same long and happy life? To live until he's old and gray, children at his feet…

Even if that means Dean never speaks a word to him. He still deserves it.

 

By God, he deserves it.

 

 

 

 

There are no words. Only the soft sound of her sobs in the dawning day—of hope, of brightness. Somewhere, someone is watching that sun rise, believing that the world is a beautiful place.

But it isn’t. There is only death. There is only pain.

 

Dean breathes shakily, the power inside him twisting, telling him to flash away somewhere else, anywhere else.

But he doesn’t.

 

Her eyes are closed, she won’t see.

He reaches out, cautiously, fingers trembling.

He touches his cheek.

 

Castiel is warm, still warm even after death, and Dean chokes back a cry. The first time—the first time he’s ever touched him, and only after his heart had stopped beating.

Dean dips his head, tears sliding hot down his cheeks _._

_It's not fair—_

He bites down on his pain, brushing back the messy hair from Castiel's eyes, now closed, never to open again.

No.

_Please_

No.

Dean unconsciously curls around him, his hand resting soft behind his head, as if to cradle him, to comfort him after a bad dream, to soothe him as they sank back into sleep, together.

But instead, this is their reality. Harsh stone and the smell of blood in the air.

 

 

 

Something runs through him, and he shakes his head.

 

_Is it possible?_

 

No. He can’t. It's not allowed.

But even as it hits him, Dean knows he has no other choice.

He never had a choice.

 

He stands, his eyes suddenly hard, mouth settling into a slash of grim determination. He can feel it still, the break in the universe, the pulsing power slowly ebbing away from him. He closes his eyes, breathing deep.

This is his one chance. The border between their worlds is strong and rarely breached. It's now, or never.

 

Dean reaches out, sinking his fingers into the crack. He hears voices in his head, of the angels, of his superiors realizing and screaming at him to turn back, but he ignores them.

They won’t stop him now. Nothing will stop him.

He pulls and the crack widens—sucking him in, down into the fire and smoke, plunging through blackness.

Dean hits hard stone, stumbling as he lands, his hands coming down hard to break the fall. There’s a moment where it’s quiet, where everything’s frozen—

Then the heat shoots through him. A slow burning pain that doesn’t affect his physical body, no—but it eats at his grace, a dark atmosphere of hate and evil that instinctively makes him want to curl up into a ball, to flash away in a blaze of wings.

 

But he can’t.

 

So, instead, Dean runs—because all he can do is run—but it’s slow, muted—like pushing through molasses. He struggles forward, and the images that filter through to his eyes don’t seem real.

There’s fire, yes, there’s blood. There’s coal and ash and brimstone and the complete absence of hope—and it’s that absence that makes him choke and almost suffocate under the stench in the air. He is a creature of Heaven, naturally of light and the sky, everything this place isn’t.

He knows it must be different for every soul, just like Heaven reveals itself in different ways, but Dean doesn’t have a soul. He can see it in its true form, the vast expanse of chaos and terror. It's dirt and earth and horrible monsters, the dark point of the night when every fear runs through the mind, imagining death, and it’s that knowledge, of the darkness and the void at the end of life—that makes up Hell.

Hell.

 

 

 

The souls Dean passes in his desperate search are enduring such torture—burned alive while frozen to the core, and part of him aches. He wishes he could save them all.

How many are down here that deserve something else? How many demon deals, how many righteous souls imprisoned in unjustified suffering?

 

Dean doesn’t know how long he fights. He kills too many. He slays the creatures in front of him until there’s nothing but red—blood on his hands, blood on his face, blood on his tongue. It’s months, it’s years, it’s seconds, and it’s eons. He knows no help will come, that his disobedience has condemned him to this fight alone. He nearly dies, struggling to keep shaking fingers wrapped around the bloodstained hilt of his blade. He soldiers on, at the end of his strength, and he doesn’t know how he manages it, but he finds him. He does.

Endless chains, iron and grime, piercing his flesh, wrapping around him, his temple dripping with dark red. His hands clench, his body shakes.

Dean falls to his knees, his heart shattering as he takes in the sight of his broken body, of his broken soul.

Then he looks up.

 

His eyes are milky white, blinded from torture, or maybe from the horrors he’s seen in the eternity it’s taken for Dean to reach him.

Then Castiel speaks.

 

“Help,” he mumbles through bloodied lips. “Please. Somebody help me.”

 

Dean runs, he runs because he has to. God, he has no other choice—

He reaches him, wraps his arms around him—pulling him from his bonds, the iron splintering and melting into nothing. He rapidly heals his wounds, the breaks and tears in his soul—a beautiful soul full of pain and strength, and Dean rebuilds it, piece by piece, as they rise, up, up—

His hand sears against him, burning with the traces of his grace, but Dean can’t be bothered to think of the effects on him now—he just has to get him out, to stop his suffering, to make sure he never has to feel this pain again.

He kisses his temple, lips fumbling as he murmurs nonsense, of love and desperation, telling him it’s all right.

 _I’ve got you,_ he tells him, _It’s okay now, I’m here._

His hands dip into Castiel, burrowing into his heart, his core, and the essence underneath his fingers roils and clutches tight to him, silently showing its need. It shreds and knits together under his hands, singing out a desperate song.

And even though there’s no direction, there’s no real up and down—they rise—melting together, Dean clutching at him desperately, his grace pouring into him as the atoms in his body shift and rearrange.

The smoke-filled air is suddenly awash with a golden glow as his wings take flight—and they break out, his voice echoing through the sky.

 

_Castiel Remington is saved._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

Castiel is sitting in the motel room, trying to keep his eyes open as he thumbs through one of his paperbacks, waiting for Anna to return. Ghosts wreaking havoc in some suburb, but he finally has a few moments to himself while she’s out getting supplies.

Castiel settles back against the headboard, smiling absently. His hands are always wrapped around a shotgun, not the pages of a book. He's missed it.

He’s just about to start a new chapter when the papers on the table whirl up around him, scattering in the breeze. Castiel sits up sharply, seizing his revolver.

But then he stops. Because Dean is standing at the foot of his bed.

 

“Hey, Cas,” he says weakly.

Then he collapses.

 

 

Castiel drops the book and rushes to him, trying to pull him up.

“Dean—”

He shakes him.

“Dean!”

Dean coughs, once, twice, blood spattering on the floor.

“Flying...isn’t as easy—as it used to be,” he says weakly.

He smiles up at him briefly, before his eyes roll, going limp in his arms. Castiel panics for a second until he registers the steady rise and fall of his chest, and he realizes Dean’s just passed out.

 

Castiel gets an arm around him, gently hauling him up and laying him down on the bed. He touches his arm.

“Dean.”

He hesitates, then places a tentative hand on his cheek.

“Dean.”

 

He doesn’t move. Castiel clears his throat and straightens, staring down at him.

Now what?

 

Angel warding—he can’t put it up as long as Dean is here, but…

He could try something Gabriel had told him about—an ancient Assyrian spell, a sort of cloaking device for any and all species.

Castiel pulls the lighter from his pocket and grabs a bowl from his pack. He almost reaches for his ragged paperback, but changes his mind. Instead he digs through the bedside table and pulls out the first book he finds. He turns it over to look at the title.

The Bible. Of course.

 

Castiel rips out the first couple of pages, tossing them into the bowl and burning them. After the ash cools, he gets to work on the sigil, mixing in some oil and leftover calf’s blood before tracing thin lines on the wall.

He looks at the sigil worriedly after he finishes, hoping that it’ll be enough. Dean doesn’t look like he's in any condition to fight off anything, let alone any irritated angels.

Castiel glances back at the bed. This is the first time he's seen Dean in nearly three weeks. And he had been acting strangely before that, perhaps put off by Castiel's suddenly frosty attitude towards him.

Castiel curses himself, dragging a hand through his mess of hair. All because he couldn't control his temper for five fuckin' seconds. Another thing to hang heavy on his conscience.

 

He grabs a towel from the rack in the bathroom, running it under cool water before returning to Dean’s side. He wipes the blood from his face and mouth, even going so far as to slightly open Dean’s lips with his hand to clean him up.

 _Concentrate, Castiel,_ he tells himself.

He tilts Dean’s head slightly, smoothing a hand over his jaw as he washes the blood and dirt from his skin. There are scratches and cuts on Dean’s face, his arms, his neck. Some look half-healed, some have broken open and are bleeding again. Castiel cleans all the wounds he finds, not daring to look beneath the clothing covering the rest of Dean’s skin. He sorts through the med kit, sifting through the haphazard collection of bandages, and patches him up as best as he can. It feels sort of ridiculous, playing doctor to an unconscious rebel angel.

Castiel sighs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Dean had been avoiding the angry angels on his tail for the most part, keeping out of their reach. At least that’s what he had told Castiel. But now, as he looks down at Dean’s unconscious form, his stomach twists.

Maybe it's worse than Dean was letting on.

 

Castiel bites his lip, thinking hard. Dean had been losing his powers, but this is new. This is dangerous. If Dean can’t even manage using his wings, how long will it be until he's helpless?

Until he's...human?

 

Castiel traces one of the slightly more healed cuts, wishing he could wash away Dean's pain with a brush of his own fingers.

“Come on, Dean,” he whispers. “Wake up.”

But he doesn’t. He remains motionless, and Castiel closes his eyes, inhaling deep. He briefly considers calling Anna, but the selfish part of him wrestles against it. She should be back soon.

So instead, Castiel lays a hand on Dean’s forehead, measuring the evenness of his breath. It’s normal, as far as he can tell. He sighs, unconsciously stroking the hair back from his face. Castiel stays there for a moment before he realizes what he’s done, then he draws back, swallowing hard.

It's impossible. Of course it's impossible.

 

Castiel hesitates, gently fixing the pillow beneath Dean's head before standing back, exhaling slowly.

There's an angel in his bed, and Castiel doesn't know what to do. He rubs his forehead as he eyes the sigil on the wall, thinking.

The chair in the corner isn’t too heavy, and Castiel drags it to the side of the bed, wincing as the wood scrapes loudly against the floor. But Dean doesn’t stir. Castiel eases down into the soft material, looking at the still form on the bed.

He watches him for as long as he can, but it isn’t long until his eyes start to droop. He could just close his eyes for a minute…just for a second…

 

 

Castiel starts awake.

He must’ve slid down on the arm of the chair in his sleep, and he sits up quickly, a throbbing ache shooting through his back. He looks over to the bed. The dark outline of Dean’s form is still, only the steady rhythm of his breath indicating any sign of life. Castiel frowns, looking at his watch. It had barely been half an hour.

He curses himself and quickly stands, stretching out the kink in his back. He’s irritated with himself—irritated that he fell asleep when he was supposed to be keeping watch.

He stands there for a moment, eyeing his phone and debating with himself about whether or not to call Anna. Then there’s a creak of movement behind him, and he turns, his heart in his mouth.

Dean’s trying to stand, his face screwed up in concentration. Castiel moves to his side, flooding with relief.

 

“Dean.”

Dean blinks a little, and smiles wearily.

“Hey, Cas."

Castiel sits down next to him.

“You okay?”

Dean sighs and leans forward, rubbing his face.

“Not sure yet.”

“What happened?” Castiel asks.

Dean doesn’t answer for a moment. He stares at the bedspread beneath him, chewing his lip.

 

“Had a little run in with my boss,” he says eventually.

Castiel swallows.

“Lilith.”

“One and only.” Dean flexes his wrist, gritting his teeth. “She’s still righteously pissed that I ditched.”

He drops his hand, sighing.

“Cut us up pretty good. Me and Sam got separated.” He closes his eyes. “So they know he’s with me now.”

He thinks for a minute, that gives a humorless laugh.

“He’s decided to stop with the whole secret thing and just straight-up rebel. Guess I gotta admire him for that,” Dean says, a faint note of pride in his voice.

 

He takes a deep breath and falls back against the headboard, wincing.

“Dean? What do you need?” Castiel sits up, reaching out a hand.

“Nothing.” Dean clenches his fists. “I’m—I’m fine. Really.”

Castiel pulls back, his throat tight. Dean blows out his breath, staring at the ceiling.

“Just supposed to be Lilith’s golden ticket to finding Anna and delivering her to Alastair.”

He snorts.

“Ain’t that a bitch.”

 

They’re silent for a minute.

 

 

“It’s just…”

Dean is quiet, his throat thick.

“You spend your whole life, your whole existence…serving something you’ve never even seen,” he almost whispers, “because you thought it was good. It was right.”

Castiel holds his breath.

“Then you say no. And your entire family turns against you. They used to be my brothers, my sisters…”

He trails off. Castiel doesn’t dare speak.

 

Dean exhales harshly, dipping his head.

“And now I can’t fucking heal, can barely fly—”

Dean is bitter.

“I feel like I’ve started to _need_ food instead of just want it,” he says, staring at his hands. “Goddamn, I think I even started sweating the other day—“

He looks up at Castiel, shaking his head.

“How do you stand this?”

“Never knew anything else,” Castiel says softly.

 

Dean looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Instead, he swings his legs over to the edge of the bed and gingerly stands, testing his weight before straightening. Castiel watches as he crosses to the wall. He seems a little better.

Dean touches the edge of the sigil Castiel marked.

“Assyrian?” He asks, glancing at him. Castiel nods. Dean smiles approvingly before turning back to the wall. “Nice one.”

His voice sounds tired. He looks tired. Castiel can’t see Dean's face, but he can imagine it, imagine the tight draw of his forehead, the worry clouding his eyes. He's been running for too long.

 

Dean lets out a slow breath.

“What am I without my grace, Cas?” He asks. “I’m not a guardian, I’m not useful, I’m just…here.”

 

He runs a hand over his face, sighing.

“Being human sucks,” he grumbles.

Castiel smiles slightly.

“Tell me about it.”

 

 

He looks down at his hands, tapping his fingers together.

“Well…hey.”

Dean turns.

“Even if you were human…I’d..." Castiel shrugs. "I'd rather have you here."

 

Dean looks up sharply. There's a strange look in his eyes, something Castiel isn't quite sure what to make of. So he stands too, awkwardly changing the subject.

“Um…so how do we find Sam?"

 

Dean's face hardens, a sudden note of worry in his tone.

"I told him if we got split up to go find Charlie. And that's where I gotta go too."

He barely takes a couple steps before his legs give out again. Castiel darts forward, catching him just in time. 

"Dean—are you kidding? You're not at full strength—"

"Cas—"

Dean grips the front of his shirt, struggling to keep his breath even.

"I have to. She's the only angel I can trust, except for Sam—and if they caught him—"

 

He stops, trying to calm down. Castiel waits until he's steady, gently pushing him towards the bed. Dean falls onto it, and even though he's trying hard to look unaffected, Castiel can tell he appreciates the support.

 

“Will...will Sam fall too?” He asks quietly.

 

Dean shakes his head, his brow furrowed.

“No, it—it shouldn’t happen to Sam, Lilith doesn’t have that power.” He drags a hand through his hair, his agitation growing with every word. “She basically shut me off. Guardians are tied to their charge, and that’s connected to grace.”

There's a sudden hard look in his eyes.

“But that doesn't mean I can't get it back."

Castiel frowns.

“What?”

Dean glances up, staring at the sigil on the wall.

“Charlie said she might know a way. To get my powers back,” he says. “Or at least slow it down.”

Castiel looks at him, shocked.

“You can do that?”

“I have to try,” he mutters.

 

Dean looks down, his shoulders slumping.

“It’s not gonna be easy, but…” He laughs sadly. “When are our lives ever easy?”

 

 

Castiel waits. He feels his hands shaking and he locks them together.

Dean is firm.

“So you gotta keep an eye out for Anna, out for yourself, you got that? Because I won’t be around to save—her, anymore. I don’t want either of you getting hurt. Understood?”

Castiel nods, his throat thick.

“Understood.”

 

Dean fumbles at his pocket, and hands him a small slip of paper.

“Here.”

 

Castiel takes it, confused.

“You read that, and then you burn it. And don’t forget.”

He looks down at the address printed in messy script, frowning.

“Dean, what—“

“You can’t keep it, and you can’t forget,” Dean says distractedly. “I’ll be there, on that day, and I want you to meet me. That’s the only way I can make sure I’ll be able to find you again.”

Castiel tries to protest.

“Why can’t I write it, or can’t you just come back to the church—“

Dean stands suddenly, restless.

“No, Cas—It can’t leave this room. You can’t tell anyone, not even Anna. If it’s written down, spoken, an angel could intercept it, someone could hear—“ He turns to the wall again, glancing at the red lines. “We’re protected now because of the sigil, but I can’t come back to the church. I don’t want them knowing where you are.”

He swallows.

“And I don’t know how long this is gonna take, I don’t know if I’ll even be able to contact you—with that warding on your ribs, you’re hidden from me.”

“What about Anna? Can’t you just find her?”

It kills him to ask, but her life is more important than Castiel’s stubborn desire to hang onto his jealousy.

Dean shakes his head, his eyes unfocused.

“It…it’s weakening, Cas. Most of the time I can’t even sense her anymore, and I don’t…” He takes a breath.

“Hell.”

He lets out a humorless laugh.

“Soon I might not be able to feel her at all,” he whispers.

 

Castiel looks down at the floor.

“Shit.”

Dean snorts.

“Yeah.”

 

He stops suddenly, a small smile crossing his face.

“So I figured we’d make an appointment.”

 

 

Castiel can’t return it. He looks down at the paper in his hand, his throat tightening. He quckly tucks it away into his pocket.

“I’ll remember,” he says quietly.

Dean sighs, his shoulders slumping.

“Good.”

 

 

 

Castiel fiddles with a stray thread on the blanket beneath him.

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Dean looks up sharply.

“What?”

 

Castiel knows it’s the last time he could be seeing Dean in a while, hell—perhaps forever, if this angel situation is as bad as it sounds—and he has to know.

Castiel shrugs.

“I—I can understand you telling Anna…you’re her guardian. But why me?”

Dean is staring at him with almost angry eyes, but Castiel can’t stop.

“Why did you come here? It weakened you, you could have saved yourself the trouble, the energy, saved it for the search…” Castiel shakes his head.

“And I don’t understand why it’s so important you find me again, I don’t—“

Dean is on top of him before he can speak another word.

 

“You idiot,” he growls.

And then he kisses him.

 

 

 

Oh God, he’s kissing him. Dean’s hands are on his face, his soft lips warm against his, and Castiel is frozen, barely able to believe it.

But then he surrenders, melting into it, reaching up a clumsy hand to clutch at Dean's hair. He arches into him and Dean lets out a soft sound—opening up for his mouth, swiping out his tongue and pressing him down harder. Castiel can’t think, he just responds, one hand gripping at Dean's shirt, the other sliding to his neck as he deepens the kiss, panting.

Dean wraps an arm around him and hikes Castiel up further on the bed, tipping his chin up to mouth down his neck, the air around them sparking with heat. 

Castiel has never felt like this in his life—Dean feels like hot charged electricity, warm and soft, but hard and searing—his hands pressing all over Castiel's skin, lips and teeth on his throat, and Castiel just gives up.

Because Dean’s eyes are on him, he’s whispering _Cas_ into his mouth, he’s touching him everywhere—

 

 

“Cas?”

 

Anna’s voice breaks through the haze in his brain, and Castiel opens his eyes.

She’s standing in the doorway, taking in the sight of her brother, laid out on the bed. Castiel’s hand is hanging limply above his face, where just seconds ago it had been twisting into Dean’s hair.

Castiel vaguely remembers the sound of wings, and a whispered _Don’t forget_.

He hastily scrambles up, blushing. Anna raises an eyebrow.

“Why are you all red?”

 

Castiel swallows, rubbing the taste of Dean from his lips.

“Nothing. Why. What?”

She leans against the doorframe, smirking.

“Finally getting to, uh, know yourself?”

Castiel tries to will the blood away from his cheeks, straightening his clothes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Anna doesn’t lose the cocky grin as she slides into the room, setting down the bag of supplies.

“Cas, we might live in a church, but you’re not _actually_ a priest. You don’t have to keep that vow of celibacy you still desperately cling to—“

“Anna.”

“I mean, sometimes you gotta blow off some steam,” she says, completely serious. “Gabriel agrees with me. You’re wound up too tight, dude. I mean, shit—when I’m on a solo hunt—“

“Okay, stop right there,” Castiel says quickly. “I really don’t want to know.”

 

Anna holds up her hands in surrender, but she still doesn’t lose that grin. Castiel struggles not to roll his eyes. Despite all of Anna’s and Gabriel’s teasing, Castiel isn’t exactly the delicate flower they paint him to be. He just had never really enjoyed sex for the sake of sex, and was perfectly content waiting for the right person to come along. He now realizes he wasn’t waiting for a 'person' after all.

 

“Dean was…just here,” he says hesitantly.

 

Anna’s eyebrows practically disappear into her hair.

“Dean,” she repeats, the smirk returning. “Well.”

She sits, leaning back in the chair.

 

“My original statement stands.”

 

Castiel blinks at her.

“You—“

He stops, nonplussed.

“Wait. What?”

Anna purses her lips, giving him a look that says, _really?_

“How d—how did you—?” He stutters, blanking.

“Come on, Cas.”

She crosses her arms.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“I—“

 

Castiel opens and closes his mouth like a fish.

“I...I just thought—y—you and him—“

Anna leans forward, laughing in disbelief.

“Me—me and Dean?”

She stares at him, an incredulous smile crossing her face.

“Dude—he’s my guardian—he’s practically another Dad.” She snorts. “Watching over me my whole life, no—he’s like _you._ ”

Castiel barks a nervous laugh, running a hand through his already wild hair.

“I—I just—the other night…”

Anna squints at him. Castiel feels stupid.

“Well, I don’t know. His hand was, uh, on your waist, and—“

Anna props her cheek on her hand, giving him an impressive bitchface.

“God, what are you? Twelve?”

“Shut up,” Castiel grumbles, but he feels a ridiculous grin spilling across his face.

 

She scoffs, standing.

“You wanna know what we were talking about? You.”

Anna saunters over to him, adopting a lilting voice.

“Wouldn’t stop talking about _you_ , asking about _you_ , oh what do you think Caaasss thinks about this—“

“Okay, I get it—“

“Hey.”

 

Castiel looks at her. Anna’s lost the playful tone, actually serious for once.

“I’m happy for you,” she says sincerely. “I really am.”

Castiel rubs the back of his neck, trying to hide his smile.

“Thanks, Red,” he mumbles. She smiles too, but then the mischievous glint is back in her eyes.

“So. What base did you get to?”

 

“Oh—hell no.”

Castiel holds up an indignant hand.

“We are not talking about this.”

Anna just leers at him. He glares right back.

“Stop that.”

She pokes a tongue into her cheek, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Anna,” he warns. She rolls her eyes.

“Fine. Moving on.”

 

She walks over to the table and hops up on it, digging a couple foil-wrapped burgers out of the bag.

“But don’t you dare think you’re getting out of this talk later.”

Castiel opens his mouth, but she quickly tosses him a burger, and he has to focus more on stopping it from hitting his face instead of thinking of a witty retort.

“So what did Dean want?” Anna asks, taking a bite. “Besides you, obviously.”

 

Castiel glares at her, but finally explains, Anna’s eyes widening as he finishes.

“Shit. Do you think he’ll be able to find her?”

Castiel shrugs.

“I hope so.”

Anna sinks back against the wall, thinking.

“And his powers…” She bites her lip. “You think he’ll be okay?”

Castiel breathes in deep, remembering the feeling of Dean against his skin.

 

“I hope so.”

 

x

 

He's with Joshua, in the garden.

 

The smell of roses hangs heavy in the late afternoon air, and Castiel closes his eyes, inhaling.

He’s sitting on the bench, soaking up the sun as Joshua works. He watches as he digs up the soil, turning up the damp earth and tamping it back down, spreading fertilizer and nutrients to the hungry plants below.

Castiel smiles. He loves this spot, swinging his legs slightly to ward off the chill of dusk. They don’t quite touch the ground yet.

 _A few more years,_ his father always jokes. _Then you’ll be taller than me._

 

Joshua talks sometimes. He tells him stories about the church and Castiel’s grandfather, when he was the pastor, the one who brought wisdom and peace to so many in their small town. He talks of the people that have come before him, those that died before his time, those that perhaps once sat on the same bench.

He’s a quiet kind of man, a gentle man, and he takes pride in this small plot of land. Sometimes, if Castiel asked nicely, Joshua let him help. He showed him the things _his_ father had taught him, the right amount of water to give, how much care each different plant needed.

_Plants are like people, Castiel. Some need room to breathe and grow. Some need checking everyday. But every now and then, they all need a little care._

 

And sometimes, sometimes, he would talk about Castiel’s mother. How he never failed to stop and bring her a flower from the garden. How beautiful her smile was.

Castiel remembers.

He remembers how he’d cling to her skirt as she moved about the kitchen, smelling of roses and warmth.

 

 

He thinks this was the happiest time of his childhood. These lazy afternoons where they would exchange quiet words, sitting contentedly in silence for hours, before the sun set, then Joshua would shoo Castiel inside to change his mud caked shoes before dinner.

But those days were over now. Joshua was dead.

 

His was the first funeral Castiel had remembered crying at.

 

 

But here he is. Smiling at Castiel from his place in the tulip bed, the knees of his overalls worn and patched. He says something, his eyes crinkling with a quiet smile. Castiel nods, even though he didn’t hear him.

They didn’t need to communicate in words. It was all sunlight.

 

 

Castiel sighs happily, casting his eyes over the small garden, the fence around the cemetery, and beyond—the small stone church. His home. His home for so many years.

It’s illuminated against the late sun, shades of yellow and gold fading into one another. But as Castiel watches, the sky darkens, and there are clouds.

There’s a far off sound of thunder. He shivers.

 

“Castiel, come help me.”

 

Joshua’s voice is the same as he remembers it, soft and gentle. He had been like a second father to Castiel, taking care of him when his real father slipped out during the night, when he disappeared for weeks—returning with scratches on his arms and a deadness in his eyes.

Castiel hops down from the bench, and kneels next to him in the dirt.

 

Joshua speaks quietly, showing him how to work the trowel, just how deep to dig, how to set the plants in their new homes and cover them back up without damaging the roots. Castiel takes over his work, and Joshua sits back on his heels, taking off his cap and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Castiel works happily, turning over dark earth in his fingers.

 

 

 

“Hello, Castiel.”

 

 

 

He looks up.

 

There’s a woman standing there, her hands clasped, the pale of her skin sharply jutting against her dark black suit. Joshua seems oblivious to her presence, humming as he collects the rest of his tools. Castiel sits back, turning to face her.

“Who are you?”

 

The woman smiles. It doesn’t reach her olive green eyes.

“My name is Bela.”

 

Castiel is sure he has never seen her before. But he sees no reason to be afraid.

“Hello,” he says. “Are you from the garden, too?”

That smile again.

But this time, Castiel feels cold.

“No, Castiel,” she says. “I am an angel.”

An angel.

“I’m dreaming,” Castiel says.

 

She nods, tucking a lock of sun-kissed hair behind her ear.

“Yes. It’s the only way I can contact you. You and your sister are hard ones to find.”

She sits down on Castiel’s bench, then pats the space beside her.

Castiel watches her for a minute, but then stands, leaving behind Joshua. He sits down next to her.

“Perhaps if you removed the warding from your home, we would be able to talk in person.”

She’s still smiling. Castiel doesn’t return it.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But I can’t do that.”

 

Bela’s smile doesn’t waver an inch.

“I figured as much,” she says, pulling out a black briefcase. “You Remingtons are rather stubborn. Despite our best efforts, you still seem intent on staying hidden. And harboring that fugitive. Dan, or Dean. Whatever ridiculous name he’s using now.”

 

Castiel stands, but his legs are heavy. Bela is opening the briefcase, and Castiel tries to look at what’s inside, but he can’t. Every time he tries, his eyes slide off to one side, the brightness hurting his eyes. Castiel wonders if he should run.

Bela seems to withdraw something from the case, but Castiel can’t see it. It’s only blurs of color.

 

“We understand you have some information about his whereabouts.”

 

Bela reaches out, grabbing Castiel’s wrist.

He gasps, pain exploding from the point of contact.

 

 

He falls to his knees, trying to twist away. White-hot fire is clawing up his arm, shattering him from the inside out.

 

“I am sorry it’s come to this.”

Bela lowers herself until they’re eye to eye, her face expressionless.

“But if there is one thing Heaven does not tolerate, it is disobedience.”

 

Her other hand reaches up and touches his forehead. Castiel sees his own memories swim before his eyes, flickers of image and thought—and the pain strengthens, reaches the point between his eyes, and Castiel stops trying to hold back.

 

He screams. Screams as she sifts through his mind like sand, Hell, Anna, Gabriel, the church, and Dean—

The vivid image of Dean, Dean collapsing, Dean telling him to remember, Dean kissing him on his bed—

 

The pain abruptly recedes, and Castiel collapses, legs folding underneath him.

He struggles to push himself up, gasping. Bela is standing over him, a triumphant smile curling her lips.

“April 27th, 6:00 p.m., the empty warehouse on Washington and Pike Street,” she murmurs, snapping the briefcase shut. Castiel panics, crawling forward.

“No—you can’t—“

Bela ignores him, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her sleeve.

“Thank you for the information, Castiel,” she says. “It has been a pleasure.”

 

Castiel is shaking.

“No,” he gasps. “No.”

 

She turns to him, raising two fingers.

“You will wake up, in your bed, and you will have no memory of this dream,” she murmurs, leaning down. “And for your sake, I hope we never see each other again.”

 

 

 

She presses her fingers to his forehead, and everything goes black.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of suicide

February melted into March, along with the slushy patches of snow that had collected around the graves by the church. Castiel had to sacrifice a hunt to stay behind and lay down sod on the soft grass, to ensure that the headstones wouldn’t be lost to the damp ground. He supposes he could have just let the place go to rot, but that felt wrong somehow. No one visits these graves anymore. Castiel will be the one to take care of them.

The weeks seem to drag by at a snail’s pace, the stifling routine of road, hunt, home, then back again. True to his warning, they neither saw nor heard a whisper of Dean, or any angels for that matter. Lucky thing, Castiel thinks bitterly. They don’t have much in the way of protection except for one angel blade. One slip, and they’d be defenseless. All their years of hunting and what their father had taught them—it had never prepared them for something as powerful as angels.

 

March passed quietly into April, and with every passing day, Castiel grew more and more tense. His nights had been plagued with strange dreams, not quite nightmares, full of faceless shadows and forgotten words. He always woke up covered in sweat, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

x

 

 

They stumble a little as they land, Sam seizing Dean’s arm.

“Dean—“

“I’m fine, Sam, get off.”

He shrugs him away, shoulders hunching in on himself. He manages to stay vertical, but Sam doesn’t miss the shake in his knees.

“I’m just trying—“

“To help, yeah,” Dean snaps. “I don’t need you to baby me, alright?”

 

Sam sighs, watching as Dean moves unsteadily towards an old crate, lowering himself down onto its warped surface.

"We shouldn't have come," Sam says sourly. "Charlie was so close, and your grace—“

“I have to tell Cas what’s going on,” Dean says stubbornly, rubbing his arm. “Anna, too.”

“I could’ve done it alone," Sam retorts as he takes in the ruined building, eyes peeled for the slightest hint of trouble. "We don’t need to risk you."

Dean just waves his hand, shaking his head. He's still pulling in shaking breaths. Sam watches worriedly.

"Maybe we can just talk to Lilith," he says eventually. "We can work this out somehow."

Dean rolls his eyes.

"The asswhupping her cronies gave me last time would really beg to differ, Sam."

"Anything's possible," he says firmly. "There's always a chance for forgiveness."

Dean looks up, his mouth set in a grim line. He doesn't say anything, but Sam can read the defeat in his eyes.

 

Sam exhales slowly, wrapping his hand around the hilt of his blade. The weight is comforting, even if Dean told him they wouldn't be expecting company. Nobody knows they're here. Only the Remingtons. 

 

 

"Hey, maybe we'll get lucky."

 

Dean sounds too light, too nonchalant.

"Maybe she'll decide I'm not worth the trouble."

But he doesn't sound like he believes it either.

"You know Lilith won't give up until she finds us," Sam mutters, turning over his blade in his hands. "When has she given up on anything?"

"Perceptive of you, Sammael."

 

 

He whirls. Behind them, at least six angels, Lilith at the point. She smiles.

"You always were the clever one," she says softly.

 

Dean snarls, bolting up, but Sam quickly steps in front of him, holding up his hands.

"Lilith—wait."

"What?" She snaps, glowering at them.

"Please—please. Let's just talk."

"Talk," Lilith repeats flatly.

Sam slowly shakes his head.

"This violence...it's...it's madness."

 

She narrows her eyes. Sam exhales, his borrowed heart thudding against his ribs.

"Neither of us want anymore to die. Our numbers are thin as it is." He shoots a look at Dean, who's glaring at the angels across from him, poised to fight. 

"All can be absolved."

Sam moves slowly, showing her as he lowers his blade.

"Our Father always forgives us our trespasses."

"Quiet, traitor," Lilith snarls.

 

Sam stills. 

 

 

 

"They let me go," he says stiffly. 

Lilith lets out a tinkling laugh, the angels behind her echoing the sound. Dean shifts, cursing behind him.

"You silly boy."

 

She looks Sam up and down, her eyes dragging slowly up to his face.

“You think they let you go…out of the goodness of their heart? Oh, no.”

Lilith smiles sweetly, the picture of mercy.

“I told them to.”

 

 

A strange feeling breaks out over Sam's skin, cold and hot—tinged with what he recognizes as fear. 

“Because we knew you’d run straight to Dean.” She glances over at him, her pale eyes like ice. “And you did.”

 

Dean growls, low in his throat, struggling to keep himself straight.

Sam takes a step back, his grip on his blade suddenly shaky. 

“It was a trick, dear,” Lilith simpers. “And you walked right into it.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Sam snarls, mustering the last of his defiance. “Didn’t work.”

 

 

Lilith pauses.

“True.”

 

She looks at the angels behind her. They're silent, hanging on her words.

“All that warding…I admit, it was a curve ball." She taps her fingers against her blade. "It was nothing I had ever seen. Almost if…”

 

She trails off, her eyes hardening.

“No matter.”

 

 

Sam tries again.

“Lilith. I know—I know you have no reason to take my word. But please. _Please_ —“

_“Enough.”_

 

 

She stalks forward, spitting her words.

“You will  _never_  be able to atone for what you did. Him? He’s just a blip on the radar, a kink in the plans, but you,  _you_ —“

She stops, her face twisted in disgust.

“You’re an abomination,” she snarls.

 

“We’re fighting for the same thing,” Sam says lowly, one last attempt. “To stop Abaddon—“

“And yet you continue to hide Anna from us,” she sneers back.

“There’s got to be another way,” Sam pleads desperately. 

“No.”

 

Lilith glares back at him, utterly unforgiving.

“Alastair needs his vessel.” 

"That's a load of bullshit."

 

 

They both whip their heads around. Dean is slowly making his way forward, one hand clamped around his side, glaring at Lilith.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" he grits out. "About Alastair?"

"I don't have to answer to the likes of you," she snarls back.

"They knew you'd never agree," Sam mutters, his fists clenched. "They don't exactly deal in truth, either."

Dean addresses Lilith, his jaw tight.

"So you lied."

"No," she responds airily. "We merely manipulated you."

Dean wavers slightly, taking a step back to steady himself.

"Oh, you goddamn bitch," he mumbles.

"You always were strangely sentimental," Lilith says curtly, her gaze flicking between him and Sam. "You..."

She pauses, a strange look passing over her face.

"You feel," she says quietly.

 

 

Sam gets one hand on Dean's arm, steadying him.

"How did you find us?" He asks, trying to buy some time. His eyes dart everywhere, searching for an escape. 

Lilith looks down, tracing the sharp edge of her blade with her finger.

“Bela always was good at getting information."

She glances up.

“She paid a visit to dear sweet Castiel.”

 

Dean goes white. He bolts forward, but Sam grabs him at the last minute, struggling to hold him back.

“What did you do— _what did you do to him?”_ Dean yells.

“Don’t worry your little head about it,” Lilith snaps, her lip curling in disgust.

Dean yanks against Sam’s grip, snarling in rage.

“I’m going to kill you,” he seethes. “You hear me? I’m going to rip you apart—“

But his legs give out, and he stumbles, grabbing his brother just in time to keep from falling.

“Dean—“

“Look at him,” Lilith says condescendingly. “He can barely stand.”

 

Sam struggles to keep Dean upright—but Dean throws him off, his gaze murderous. Lilith chuckles.

 

She nods to the angels behind her, and they step forward, blades sliding from their sleeves. 

"Soon, all will be as it should be," she says softly. "You will return to Heaven. Anna will be ours. And Castiel will be dead."

 

 

Sam steps in between them, narrowing his eyes. He can feel Dean choking for breath behind him, the only being he's trusted with his life—and his blood burns.

He fixes his eyes on the angel in front of him, lowering his voice.

"Lilith."

 

A deep breath.

 

“I know what you think you are doing is right."

He brings up his blade, pointing it at her heart.

 

“But you come near Castiel Remington, and I’ll kill you.”

 

 

 

Lilith's face quickly contorts into fury.

"Will you? _Boy?_ " 

Dean raises his blade too, a hard set of determination in his movements.

 

The teasing tone is gone from Lilith's voice, replaced with a steely edge. 

“It’s time for you to go back, Sammael. To the jail.”

Her lip curls.

“And this time, you’ll have company.”

 

Dean steps forward, using the last of his strength to stand up tall.

"You know what, Lilith?"

He laughs slightly.

"I'm gonna say something I've wanted to say to you for a very long time."

She turns to him, her face impassive. Dean flips up his blade, giving her his cockiest grin.

 

"Bite me."

 

 

 

Lilith smiles.

 

x

 

The day finally dawned, bright and cold, and Castiel hadn’t slept. Anna had thrown a pillow at him when she found him still up and pacing at three a.m., telling him he had to at least try to sleep. He waited until her door closed and stayed up anyway, disinterestedly flicking through lore, finally catching a few fitful hours right before sunrise.

Castiel unashamedly shoos Anna towards the car not long after breakfast, and as he loads up the trunk, he tries to keep his thoughts neutral. He’s sure Dean is fine. There's nothing to worry about.

But still. No harm in getting there early.

 

Anna silently protests the early hour by propping up her feet on the dash, solely because she knows Castiel hates it when she does that. She yawns, rubbing her eyes.

“What time we meeting him again?”

“Six,” he answers tersely.

“And what time will we get there?”

“…Around noon.”

She sighs loudly.

“ _Cas_.”

“What?” He says defensively, turning on to the main road. “Extra time to check out the place.”

Anna gives him a look, but then sighs, settling back in the seat.

“Whatever.”

She gathers up her hair, starting to twist it into a braid.

“Still don’t understand why he’s got to meet us somewhere else,” she says, after a minute. “He’s my guardian, right? He knows where I am at all times—isn’t that part of the job description?”

Castiel bites his lip.

“I don’t get it either,” he admits eventually. “But hopefully now he’ll have some answers. He said Charlie could help him.”

Anna is silent as she mulls over Castiel’s words.

“I guess.”

 

She’s quiet for a bit, eyes unfocused as she stares out the window. Then she turns to him.

“Don’t get me wrong, Cas. We’re not exactly experts on the whole angel universe, but…. this sounds off to me.”

Castiel tries to smile, raising an eyebrow.

“What happened to having a little faith?”

Anna huffs, punching him on the shoulder.

“You know what I mean.”

 

She sinks back in her seat, her smile fading.

“I just hope he’s okay,” she says softly.

  

Castiel silently agrees.

 

 

 

Somewhere near Indianapolis, Anna forces him to stop at a gas station (“Cause I gotta frikkin’ pee, Cas”) and to grab some food, and then they’re only thirty minutes away. Castiel realizes his fingers are twitching, and he clamps them down on the wheel. 

They turn off the main road into a dilapidated industrial neighborhood, empty buildings like forgotten giants, everything old and practically falling apart. Castiel darts his eyes back and forth, looking for the side street where the warehouse is supposed to be.

There. Pike Street.

He hangs a right, and Anna sits up beside him, her eyes narrowed. The back of Castiel’s neck prickles.

Something is wrong.

 

  

He slams the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. He throws himself out the door, Anna hot on his heels.

 

He rounds the corner to see dark smoke pouring out the window, the air sour with the smell of fire—

Castiel yells.

“Dean!”

He shoves his way inside, almost ripping the warped door off its hinges.

“Dean!” He shouts again, the name lost in the choked smell of the air, harsh black smoke clogging his throat.

Castiel yanks his gun, coughing as he stumbles forward, Anna behind him. He covers his mouth, eyes watering as he runs deeper into the belly of the ruined building.

He goes left, looking around desperately—but there’s only fire, hot and blazing—enveloping half of the room, and quickly spreading. Glass and iron scatter the floor, the walls nearly collapsing, shaking as Castiel darts forward. He turns the corner and sees the sigils on the wall, drawn in blood, and his heart stops.

 

_“Castiel!”_

 

Anna’s voice—coming from somewhere to his right—and he runs toward the sound, dodging the burning beams of wood, skidding to a halt when one falls in his path, barely missing him. He scrambles over it, Anna finally coming into view. She’s crouched in the corner, and she’s got her arms around something, no, _someone_ —

 

“Shit—“

 

Castiel drops to her side and tries to haul him up, but he’s unconscious. Anna gets a hand around Dean’s waist, supporting him from the other side, and they start running, fast as they can to the exit. The smoke is thicker now, and Castiel can barely breathe—but the adrenaline spurs him on, and the three of them spill out the door, panting as they scramble away from the burning building.

They get him to the car, and the flames have already swallowed the warehouse. Anna stares, backing away from the heat and the blaze, but Castiel is laser-focused on Dean. He checks his pulse—shit, do angels even have pulses?—and he finds it slow, but strong. Dean doesn’t seem to be hurt, but he’s out cold.

Castiel tugs at the door of the Impala, but he can’t quite reach.

“Anna,” he yells, Dean nearly slipping from his arms. “ _Anna_!”

 

She runs over to help Castiel, and he tugs him inside—Anna quickly rushing around to the driver’s side and sliding behind the wheel. Castiel reaches over Dean’s head and yanks the door closed as Anna floors it, and they speed away from the flames, sirens already sounding in the distance.

Castiel cradles Dean’s head in his lap, trying to stay calm.

“Come on, Dean. Come on.”

Anna throws a panicked look over her shoulder.

“Cas, what do we do— _what do we do_?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel snaps, gripping at the leather of Dean’s jacket. “I don’t know.”

He shakes his head, his mind racing.

“Let’s just—let’s find someplace to stay. A motel. The church is too far, we gotta—we gotta get him someplace.”

Anna nods, her mouth set in a thin line. Castiel forces himself to relax, leaning against the back seat, but he refuses to let go of Dean’s hand.

 

Anna pulls the car into the parking lot of a motel, and Castiel waits impatiently for her to check in and get back with the key before they take Dean out of the car, delicately carrying him towards the room. Thankfully no one sees them, and they’re able to get him inside and laid out on the bed. He still hasn’t stirred.

“Cas, what happened back there? What was all that?” Anna asks, frantically slapping up their now-standard warding. Castiel moves to help her.

“I—I saw sigils on the wall, I think they were like the ones used to banish angels,” he says. “Do you think—he was fighting them? That they found him?”

“Could be,” Anna says as she finishes up the last sigil. She shakes her head nervously.

“I don’t like this, Cas. I don’t like this one bit.”

Castiel swallows.

“You’re telling me.”

 

He looks back at the bed.

Castiel comes around the side, sitting down next to Dean, like he did all those months ago. Why did he always find himself at his bedside, fearing for his life?

“What do think we should do now?”

He reaches out and takes Dean's hand. He’s warm, as warm as he remembers, and Castiel can’t help but give his hand a brief squeeze, even if he won’t feel it.

“Wait for him to wake up,” he says softly.

 

Dean's hair is wild, all whipped up and disheveled, and Castiel fixes it absently, brushing it back from his forehead, stroking a thumb over his cheek.

Behind him, Anna clears her throat.

Castiel hastily drops Dean's hand, his face flushing.

 

She’s quiet.

“You really got it bad, don’t you?”

 

Castiel glances over his shoulder, opening his mouth—but he can't think of anything to say. He rubs the back of his neck, dropping his eyes. Anna sighs.

"Look. You stay here, keep watch, okay? I gotta give the manager the deposit."

Castiel nods as she grabs her wallet and the spare key, heading towards the door. She looks back at him, her fingers tapping the handle.

“Just don’t smother the poor guy.”

 

Castiel flips her off. Anna rolls her eyes and heads out, closing the door behind her. He locks it after her, watching as she disappears into the main building. He turns back to Dean, letting out a slow breath.

 

 

Castiel sits beside him on the bed, briefly checking him over. Dean is uninjured, as far as he can tell. Castiel bites down on his bottom lip. He wonders if anything happened to Sam.

He hesitates for a second, then leans forward, gently shrugging Dean out of his jacket. He feels slightly dirty doing so, but it’s worth it when he sees Dean is unharmed. Castiel sighs. He sets the jacket on the table next to the bed, then returns to Dean’s side, threading their fingers together.

He glances up at the window again. He can only imagine what Anna would say if she came back right now, seeing him curled around Dean like this. Castiel would probably never hear the end of it.

He looks down to where their hands are locked together and smiles, swiping his thumb back and forth over the skin of Dean’s hand.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispers.

 

Castiel's eyes wander, and they fall on Dean's arm, traveling up the line of his shoulder. He frowns.

 

Dean’s arm is…bare. No golden lines, no sigils. Castiel pushes up the sleeve of his t-shirt, just to check, but he sees nothing. Only unmarked skin.

He considers lifting up the rest of the shirt to look at Dean's back, when the hand is ripped out of his grasp, and Castiel is shoved backward.

He crashes to the ground, hitting the floor.

“ _Ow_ , motherf—“

 

 

“What the _hell_?”

 

 

Castiel shakes his head, looking up. Dean is staring at him, fear and anger etched into his face.

“Who the fuck are you!” He shouts.

Castiel reaches out a hand.

“Dean, calm down—“

“Where am I? How do you know my name?”

Castiel stiffens.

 

“You don’t—you don’t know who I am?”

The man—he looks like Dean, he _has_  to be him—he scrambles away from Castiel, backing into the corner.

“You’re my fucking kidnapper, that’s who you are, and, oh _god_ —are you going to steal my kidney? Is that what this is? One of those black market organ things—“

“Shut up!” Castiel shouts.

 

He does, glaring murderously up at him. Castiel’s blood runs cold.

“You’re not Dean,” he whispers.

He curls his hands into fists, voice dropping low.

“What did you do to him? _Where is he_?”

“What the hell are you talking about—“

“Dean!” Castiel shouts. “The angel!”

 

The man stares up at him for a moment, realization dawning. Then he barks out a harsh laugh.

“Angel—so that bastard’s using my name now?” He sneers, turning his head to the side. “You’ve got to be fucking _kidding_ me.”

Castiel sucks a sharp breath in.

 

“You’re not him.” His throat catches. “You’re the vessel.”

 

The man scoffs.

“Oh, his _vessel_ , very nice. Not like I knew what I was getting into. That douchebag didn’t tell me that I was gonna get dragged all over the whole goddamn planet—“

He pushes himself up.

“And he definitely didn’t tell me this is what I’d get at the end of it, an interrogation by a fuckwad like you.”

He turns on his heel, storming towards the door.

Castiel blocks his path.

“I wouldn’t talk to me like that, if I were you.”

The man sneers.

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

He shoves him.

Castiel stumbles back, glaring.

“Don’t—“

“Don’t what?”

The man shoves him again, and Castiel snaps, laying him out flat. The strength of the punch cracks through his knuckles and he yanks back his hand, hissing. The lock clicks and the door bangs open, Anna rushing in.

“Cas, what the _hell_?”

“You asshole—“

Dean—

_No, not Dean—_

He sits up, one hand clutching his bloody nose.

“Jesus Christ—“

“I heard you shouting all the way down the hall, what the fuck—”

“Anna, shut up—“

“Did you just _punch_ him—?“

“You’re going to fucking regret that, you stuck up bastard—“

“ENOUGH!”

 

The room falls silent, all three of them panting. Castiel points at the man on the floor.

“That’s not Dean. It’s his body, Dean’s gone. I don’t know where he is.”

The man growls, clutching his nose.

“I am not some goddamn _body_ —”

Castiel whirls on him.

“Then what? What are you!” He shouts.

Anna presses a forearm to his chest, pushing him back.

“Cas, _no_.”

The man snarls.

“You expect me to explain all of the sudden? You just fucking _punched_ me—”

“Wait—wait.”

Anna holds out her hand, eyeing Castiel cautiously, as if he's about to charge. He clenches his fists, glaring as she grabs a towel, kneeling and turning to the man on the floor.

“Look,” she says softly, trying to clean up the blood, placating him. “We’re sorry, okay? We’re sorry.” She throws a fierce look at Castiel. “We’re just as confused as you.”

She places a hand on his arm, her eyes softening.

“But it would all do us a hell of a lot of good if you could just explain to us what’s going on.”

The man looks at Anna warily, but he finally accepts the towel, wiping away the blood from his face. He glares at Castiel briefly before turning back to Anna, his voice smooth and oily.

“Well, I think I could do that. Sure rather talk to you,” he drawls, looking her up and down.

“You touch her, and I’ll break your wrist,” Castiel snaps.

 

Anna stands, shoving him back. Castiel hadn’t even realized he’d been advancing on them, his hands curled into fists.

“Jesus, Cas, _stop_.”

She moves quickly, placing herself in between the two of them. Dean scowls at Castiel from over her shoulder, watching them with suspicious eyes.

“Enough of this macho display of dominance crap—”

Anna grabs Castiel’s elbow.

“We need information,” she hisses into her brother’s ear.

Castiel jerks his arm out of her grip, glaring at her. Anna sighs, turning back to the man on the floor. She bends slightly, holding out a hand.

“Please.”

 

The man eyes her for a minute, but finally allows her to help him up.

“Fine.” He jerks his head towards Castiel. “As long as that prick doesn’t try anything funny.”

Castiel really wants to punch him again.

“Fuck you,” he snarls instead.

Anna glares at him.

“Cas,” she says through gritted teeth. “Sit down, and _shut up_.”

 

Castiel stares at her for a moment, but then stalks over to the chair by the doorway, throwing himself down with such force that the legs scrape across the floor. He crosses his arms, glowering at the two of them.

Anna sits next to Dean on the bed.

“What happened?” She asks gently. “Back at the warehouse?”

Dean grips at the towel.

“I don’t know.”

“But there must be—“

“I don’t know, okay?”

Dean turns up his hands, shrugging.

“One minute he was there, and then he wasn’t, alright? All I know is that I woke up here, and _you_ were practically on top of me—“

“I was not—“

“Castiel.”

Anna might be younger, but Castiel falls silent at her tone, fuming.

She closes her eyes briefly, then turns back to Dean.

“Maybe it’s best if you start from the beginning.”

The man huffs.

“It’s a really crappy story,” he mutters, dabbing at his nose. "You don’t want to hear it.”

“Please.”

She spreads her hands.

“Anything that might help.”

 

Dean looks at her for a moment, still holding the rag to his face. Then he sighs, dropping his hands. And finally, he starts to explain.

“My name is Dean Smith.”

 

He takes a breath, and Castiel twitches impatiently.

“ _And_?”

Anna shoots him a vicious look.

The man huffs loudly, but continues, licking his lips.

“And…a few months back…I—“

He cuts off, his face hardening.

“It seems so stupid now,” he says, “but I—I left my home. I left my wife and daughter, and my stupid fucking job—“ He drops his gaze to the floor, breathing hard. “Everything just seemed too much all of the sudden, and…” He closes his eyes. He’s silent for a moment. Then he lifts his head, meeting Castiel’s angry glare.

“I’m not going to try and sugarcoat it. I tried to kill myself.”

Castiel stares at him.

 

Shit.

 

He had never thought of Dean’s vessel as a _person,_ it was always just Dean, it was just…him. Castiel had tried not to think about the body the angelic grace had inhabited, and if his mind ever did start to wander in that direction, he would shove those thoughts aside.

But he can’t anymore. Because here he is. Dean Smith.

And it's fucking unnerving, seeing this man in front of him. He’s a person. He’s a human being—with doubts, and hopes, and fears and—

A family. Oh god, he has a family.

 

“I put a gun in my mouth,” Dean says softly. Castiel tenses.

“Shitty way to go, honestly. Don’t ever try it.” Dean laughs humorlessly. “And I…I missed.”

Anna and Castiel exchange a look. He can tell she's thinking the same thing.

The man continues, speaking hesitantly.

“I wa—I was paralyzed. Was in the hospital for six weeks. They said I would never move again.” He frowns. “And that’s when I heard his voice, in my head.”

Dean looks at the towel, checking on his nose.

“He came to me, said he was an angel, and that he needed an upgrade in bodies. And in names. Whatever the hell that means.” He shakes his head. “I was never was the religious type. Hell, not even superstitious.” He rubs his forehead, his shoulders slumping. “But…he said…he said if I agreed to let him use my body, I would live forever.”

Dean laughs bitterly.

“I thought that meant I was guaranteed Heaven. Instead I got prison.”

He looks up at them, his eyes full of pain. The same green eyes, but now so foreign, so desperate.

“Do you now what it’s like?” He whispers. “To be ridden around, unable to control yourself, unable to see…unable to do anything? Being trapped inside your own mind…” He stares up at the ceiling, closing his eyes.

All three of them are silent.

 

 

“What day is it?” Dean asks suddenly.

“It’s…”

 

Anna glances at Castiel.

“It’s April,” she says carefully.

The new Dean crosses his arms.

“April? Huh. Longer than I thought.”

Castiel jumps in quickly.

“What do you remember?”

Dean narrows his eyes, but grudgingly answers.

“Not much, to be honest. Vague flashes. Emotions mostly.” He sees Castiel’s glare and rolls his eyes. “So no. I don’t know where he’s gone.”

Castiel shoots a look over at Anna. She shrugs.

 

“April.”

The new Dean has a finger pressed to his temple, counting silently. He frowns.

“What…year is it?”

Anna looks at him, hesitating.

“It’s…um.”

“It’s 2009,” Castiel says flatly.

 

Dean balks.

“Holy shit—“

He stands and staggers back, almost collapsing.

“2009, oh my god—”

“What? What is it?” Anna asks, panicked, reaching for him.

“You—goddamn it, you—“

He pushes her hands away, falling back against the wall. The two of them watch, holding their breath.

Dean holds his head in his hands, shaking. He sucks in deep breaths, choking on his words. Castiel takes a slow step forward.

Dean suddenly snaps his head up, eyes full of fire.

“You wanna know when I got possessed by your stupid angel?”

 

Castiel gapes at him. No. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to know.

 

“1986!” Dean shouts. “Nineteen-eighty-fucking-six. Twenty-three years…Oh my god…twenty-three years,” he sobs, sinking to the floor.

Castiel is speechless. Anna’s hands are over her mouth.

“I—“

Castiel can barely make out what he’s saying.

“My daughter—my baby girl—“ Dean cries, hunching over. “She’ll be almost as old as I am—oh, god—oh god…”

 

He covers his face with his hands, and they can’t get another word out of him. Anna stands quickly and crosses to Castiel.

“Anna…” He says, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Twenty-three.”

She bites at her nails. She’s thinking the same thing.

“As long as I’ve been alive,” she mutters. “I had no idea.”

Castiel glances over to the man, still huddled in the corner.

“Now what?”

“You think I know? We can’t leave him alone—“

“We can’t let him leave, _period_.” Castiel snaps. “He’s our key to getting Dean back.”

But even as he says it, his heart turns to ice. Was it right to put an angel back when it would take away this man’s chance at living?

 

Castiel’s jerks out of his thoughts when he sees Dean Smith trying to stand, his legs shaking. His tear-streaked face has hardened, now a mask of determination as he starts towards the door, fumbling with the lock.

“Whoa, whoa—where do you think you’re going?”

“To see my family,” Dean snarls, wrenching it open.

 

 

Castiel places a hand on the door, shoving it closed.

“You can’t.”

Dean glares at him.

“Are you kidding?” He scoffs. “I am _alive_ again. I can walk again, I’m controlling my own body— you think I’m going to stay here? Why would I do that?”

Anna raises her hands.

“Look, you don’t know—there are other things out there that are looking for you— _hunting_ for you—a lot worse than angels—“

“Stop lying to me!”

Dean whirls on her.

“All you’ve done is lied,” he seethes, hissing in her face. “You lied, and your angel lied, and now? I’m going home.”

Castiel clenches his jaw.

“You are not walking out that door.”

“Watch me,” Dean snarls back.

 

That's when it explodes.

 

 

 

Castiel hits the ground, his ears ringing. He tries to sit up, struggling to see through the haze in the air—and then hands wrap around his throat.

It slams him back, black eyes gleaming. Castiel chokes, the world going fuzzy.

 

There’s a scream and flash of light to his left, rough shouting and Dean’s yells as he tries to fight them off—but it’s fading, everything going dark—

A bright explosion of orange sparks bursts above him, and Castiel gasps, air rushing back into his lungs. Anna pushes the demon off him, Raphael’s knife dripping red. She grabs his hand and hauls him up. He doesn’t thank her, doesn’t think that there could be more demons—he just pushes past her out into the parking lot.

 

But the damage is done. The others have already disappeared with Dean—vanished into thin air. Castiel whirls, but he sees nothing.

“Dammit,” he spits. “God _dammit_ —“

A small crowd has started to gather, shocked faces and a couple people pulling out their phones, staring at the ruined door. Castiel snarls, stalking back inside.

“Cops’ll be here any minute,” he snaps, grabbing his bag and roughly shoving his stuff in, his hands shaking.

 

“Cas.”

“I’m gonna rip them apart,” he mutters, ignoring her. He grabs her abandoned things and shoves them in too, trying to think through the roar of blood in his ears.

“ _Castiel_.”

He stops, finally looking at her. Anna has grabbed his arm, her eyes wide.

“We’re gonna get him back,” she whispers. “Okay?”

Castiel glares at her.

“But you gotta relax, Cas. Can you do that?”

He feels it boiling in his chest, and he clenches his fists, biting back the insults and the rage he longs to throw at her.

“Can’t we do this crap in the car?”

She drops her hand, and for a minute it looks like she might punch him. Then she grabs the keys from the table, throwing out an arm.

“After you.”

 

 

The manager tries to stop them. But when Castiel levels his gun in his face, the man promptly falls over backward, landing on his ass. The rest of the crowd parts for them like the sea, and they cram into the car, speeding out of the parking lot and leaving the ruined motel behind.

 

 

They argue back and forth, Castiel nearly shouting at her as they pull on the main road—and when she finally relents and they go back to the warehouse, there’s nothing but ash and rubble, the scene marked off by police tape, loose ends fluttering in the breeze.

 

x

 

They call every hunter they know. Castiel strikes name after name off his list, getting increasingly frustrated. He throws his pen down after yet another dead end, sinking his head in his hands. He blindly fumbles for the beer bottle on the desk, draining it in one go. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, the bottle slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor. It rolls away somewhere in the darkness and stops with a soft _clink_. Castiel stares unseeing at the wall, his chest heaving.

Three fucking days. Dean could be dead by now.

And there's nothing they can do. No answer from Sam, from Charlie—and the angel he knew as Dean is just...gone. Castiel’s starting to think he’ll never see him again.

 

His cell rings and Castiel snatches it up, jamming it to his ear.

“What?” He snaps.

“Kansas City was a bust.”

Castiel closes his eyes.

“Zeke and Hael don’t have anything either,” Gabriel continues, sounding tired. “So Anna’s heading back to you now. She should be there any minute.”

Castiel curses under his breath.

“What about Tessa? Rachel?”

Gabriel only sighs in response. Castiel braces a hand on the table.

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

 

They taper off into silence. Castiel thinks quickly, scanning the map in front of him.

“They can’t have gotten far,” he mutters. “Only three days, and with a prisoner, that’d slow ‘em down…” He draws a circle on the map, crushing the pen in his palm. “I’d put them as far as Corinth.”

“I got some contacts ‘round there. I’ll give them a call.”

Castiel exhales harshly, shaking his head.

“It’s too much ground to cover.”

His breath catches in his throat.

“What if it’s too late?” He whispers.

Gabriel is quiet.

“We’ll find him, Cas,” he says finally.

Castiel clutches to the phone, his words thick.

“What if…what if they—“

“They won’t,” Gabriel says firmly. “He’s too valuable.”

Castiel closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in.

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

“Hey. Someone’s gotta be there to talk you off the ledge.”

Castiel snorts, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

He’s about to sit down when there’s a knock on the door.

Castiel snaps his head up. Anna’s pattern.

“I gotta go.”

 

He doesn’t wait for Gabe’s reply, snapping his phone shut and moving to the door, pulling back the chain.

She pushes in, her face tired and pale. Castiel grabs her arm, steadying her.

“Hey, whoa, you okay—“

“Cas.”

She takes a deep breath.

 

 

“I know where Dean is.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: violence, torture, more violence, suicide, minor character death
> 
> seriously. lots of shit.

Anna explains in the car as Castiel pushes the speed limit, just nudging past 90 on the highway. Oh, but Heaven help the police officer that tries to pull him over.

 

“Called Hannah and Zeke—they said there was a big spike of demon activity near Colorado Springs,” Anna says as she loads up the rock salt shells, snapping the handle back into place. Castiel frowns.

"Wait—what?" He yanks the wheel, swerving around a slow car. "Gabe said they didn't have anything."

She pauses, glancing up. Castiel can see her face reflected in the rearview, the looming shadows making her look almost like a ghost.

"That's weird," she says shortly. "Maybe he got it wrong."

 

A red flag goes up. Castiel narrows his eyes, about to argue—but then Anna is speaking again, her voice tense.

“Whatever," she mutters. "It doesn't matter."

She climbs into the front seat, clutching the gun in her hands.

"They said it was off the charts, Cas. I don't see what else it could be." She throws him a look. "Especially if they’re trying to crack an angel vessel. That’d take a ton of juice, right?”

 

Castiel doesn't bother to answer, the worry and fear in his blood boiling into rage. 

“Shit.”

 

He shoves all of his questions aside and presses down harder on the accelerator, the engine whining in protest underneath them.

Anna eyes him worriedly.

"Cas...I don't know—this could be big."

She darts her eyes toward the window, then back to his face.

"Maybe we should wait for Gabriel," she says tersely.

_"No."_

 

Castiel glares straight ahead, tightening his grip on the wheel.

“We’ve waited long enough.”

 

 

He misses the furtive look Anna gives him as she draws back, pulling the sleeves down further on her arms. She remains quiet the rest of the way as Castiel drives, the road quickly disappearing underneath the Impala's tires.

 

 

x

 

 

They kill the engine on a side road and go the last few hundred yards on foot. They stop just behind the line of trees, the darkness of the night hiding them from view of the old house across the field. Castiel can see the outline of three figures, standing motionless on the porch.

“Shit, three,” Anna says, chewing at her lip. “And no telling how many are inside.”

Castiel checks the barrels of his shotgun, the comforting weight of Raphael’s knife at his hip.

“We’ve handled worse.”

 

 

 

 

 

The demon grins, throwing them down on the floor.

 

“Okay,” Castiel pants. “This is worse.”

“Well, well. Look what we have here.”

 

 

 

Castiel looks up, struggling against the demon holding him, one icy hand on the back of his neck. At least six of them, plus the one who seems to be their leader. She smiles slowly at him, her eyes blue and cold.

"The Remingtons," she says softly. 

And behind her, Dean tied up, his face bloodied and his head limp. Castiel’s stomach twists.

 

She beckons a finger, and the demon holding Castiel jerks him up to his knees, pinning his arms. He can't see Anna—they got separated in the scuffle—and a horrible fear strikes him, feeling like a punch to the gut. Maybe they killed her already, maybe she's dead—

The woman steps forward, another demon at her side, Raphael's knife in hand.

 

"Castiel."

He glares up at her.

“So nice to see you again,” she says softly.

 

Castiel clenches his jaw.

“Don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure.”

He pulls slightly at the arms holding him, curling his lip.

“Then again. You bastards all look alike to me.”

“You don’t recognize me?” Her smile fades slightly. “Oh.”

She sounds almost disappointed.

 

Castiel tries to sneer at her, but the demon yanks at his hair, making him choke.

“Because…I definitely recognize you,” she says, reaching for his face.

She tips his head up with her fingers, stroking a thumb over his chin and cheek. Castiel tries to turn away from her touch, breathing hard through his nose.

“And that pretty skin of yours.”

She smiles, leaning down close.

“I loved tearing into it,” she whispers.

 

 

Castiel stiffens.

 

 

“Naomi," he breathes.

 

She smiles.

“Hello again."

 

Her eyes briefly flick to that endless white, then back to blue.

 

“Glad to see you above ground, darling,” she purrs. “I had been praying for this moment.”

She draws back from him, stepping over to a table, lined with a row of gleaming silver instruments. Castiel's throat goes dry.

“What are you doing here, Naomi?” He growls, shifting slightly. “Hell not enough for you?”

He's got some holy water in his pocket. If he can just reach it...

Naomi purses her lips, pouting.

“Well. It was rather boring. Especially without my favorite toy." Her hands flit over the various blades, and she selects a small switchblade, turning to him with a poisonous smile.

"But now we're back together again, Castiel. It's almost like...serendipity." 

She kneels in front of him, and Castiel grits his teeth, biting back the urge to retch. She trails a hand down his neck and heaving chest, just admiring.

"Imagine it." 

 

Naomi flicks open the blade with her other hand, playing with the edge.

"I'm assigned to a milk run job, to pick up an angel vessel. Barely worth my time. I send some of my less hopeless demons, and _then,_ I hear, it was none other than the Remingtons that they took him from.”

She glances at the knife, then up to Castiel's face.

“Those demons are dead. Obviously."

She leans in close.

"If they can’t be bothered to use their goddamn brains, then there’s no use keeping them around is there?” She murmurs.

Castiel darts his eyes back and forth, looking for a way out. He doesn’t see one.

 

“You see, these grunts here…”

He looks, following the direction of Naomi's gaze. She waves her knife hand lazily, indicating the black-eyed demons keeping guard.

“They’re cannon fodder,” she says, eyeing them condescendingly. “Foot soldiers. Expendable.”

She makes no effort to keep the disdain from her voice.

“What Hell _needs…_ is creativity.”

She turns back to him, tapping his chest with the knife.

“Pure untapped hatred.”

Her eyes slide to that ghostly white, haunting milky irises that seem to stare at everything and nothing all at once.

“And that’s why we couldn’t wait for you,” she whispers.

Castiel stills.

  

“What are you talking about?” 

"Oh. Castiel."

Naomi tilts her head, her tone the imitation of pity.

"Still deluding yourself, I see." 

 

She leans in close, her breath reeking of sulfur and death.

"You're still feeling it, aren't you? The rage? The anger?"

"Shut up," Castiel snarls.

She smirks.

"Ah. So you are."

 

Her eyes slide back to blue, and she drags a thumb against the edge of the blade, her gaze never leaving Castiel's.

"After what you did...you think you came back, 100% pure?" 

Castiel snaps, pulling uselessly against his captor.

“Fuck you,” he spits. “You made me—you _made_ me do that, I didn’t—“

She slaps him.

 

Castiel breathes hard, dragging his head back to center. His cheek is stinging.

"No," Naomi says crisply.

 

She presses the tip of the knife against his shoulder, just hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to bleed. 

"Do not lie to me, Castiel," she hisses.

She places a soft pressure on the blade, her perfect veneer finally cracked by anger.

"I will tolerate many things, but lying is not one of them."

Castiel snarls, but there’s a sick shame curling in his throat, because he knows. He knows.

She only gave him the options. And he took them.

 

Naomi’s favorite.

 

 

  
  


“You have such a beautiful hatred in you.”

Castiel shudders as her blade finally pierces his skin, blood oozing weakly from the wound. 

“I just refined it,” she says softly.

 

There's a scuffle of noise behind him—and Castiel jerks around to see Anna, fighting against another demon, who's holding her fast, a knife to her throat. Relief floods through Castiel briefly before Naomi twists her own knife, digging it into his skin. Castiel draws in a sharp breath, biting down on his lip.

Naomi smiles.

 

“So. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

 

He’s jerked up roughly, the demon manhandling him as Naomi stands too, eyes flicking over to Anna.

“I’m going to torture you. And the girl. Not for information—“

She smiles wide, her eyes going dark.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” she murmurs.

Castiel yanks at the hands holding him, snarling.

"I'm going to kill you, Naomi," he spits. "I swear to god—“

“Whose god?” She says. “Yours or mine?”

Castiel glares at her, panting. She steps forward, laughing slightly.

“You think you are the only one allowed to have a god?”

Naomi curves a hand around his cheek.

“But mine...mine is a much better god.” 

 

She brushes a thumb over his lips.

“She created us, and she will destroy you," she says softly.

Castiel snarls.

“Tell her to get in line."

 

But Naomi just smiles.

"There's the Castiel I know and love."

 

 

She steps back, dropping her hand. She jerks her head, and in an instant another demon is at her side.

“I promise you, Naomi,” Castiel seethes. “You’re not walking out of here alive.”

She ignores him, giving a slight nod to the other two.

“I think a little conversation is in order,” she says, in a commanding voice. “I’ll take the skinny one first. Tie him up.”

 

 

Two grab his arms, and Castiel tries to fight. But one socks him in the gut, the other seizing him and slamming his head against the wall.

Everything spots out for a minute. He’s conscious of being dragged the rest of the way, his head throbbing. He’s slammed roughly against the pole, his arms ripped behind him and bound. He can feel blood running down his temple.

 

The demons retreat, and Castiel pulls in a couple deep breaths, regaining his senses enough to test his bonds, pulling weakly at the ropes. They’re solid.

He falls back, looking around groggily. Just out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean. His heart lurches weakly in his chest.

“Dean,” he rasps.

 

Dean looks over, his eyes unfocused. Castiel swallows the taste of blood in his mouth.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Been tied up and tortured for three days,” Dean mumbles back. “What do you think?”

Castiel sinks his head down, choking back a laugh. If things had been different, he thinks he could have liked this Dean Smith.

 

He closes his eyes, listening to him breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry we got you into this.”

He exhales a shaking breath.

“You deserved better.”

 

There’s only silence from the man to his right.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Dean murmurs finally.

He sounds so tired.

 

 

Castiel pulls against his ropes, about to answer him, but that’s when the screams start.

 

 

He bolts upright.

“Anna!” He yells. “ _Anna!_ ”

 

 

Castiel can’t see from his tied up position, and he twists desperately—trying to find her.

“I’m going to rip your lungs out— _you fucking hear me?”_ He roars. “I’m coming for you, Naomi, you—“

His voice is lost in his shaking anger. He can feel blood trickling from his wrists where the ropes have rubbed his skin raw—his vision whited out by blind rage.

Until Dean’s hand finds his.

 

“Cas.”

Castiel freezes.

 

Dean grips his arm, his voice weak.

“It’s—it's okay. Cas. C-castiel.”

 

Castiel is shaking, his throat choked with sobs.

“They won’t kill her,” Dean whispers. “I know they won't."

 

Anna's voice is thick in his ears, not the play screams of their childhood—this is real—raw, vivid pain—and Castiel can't handle it.

Dean's hand tightens, grounding him, bringing him back to reality.

"Castiel."

 

Castiel's head drops to the side, his eyes watering. He can see Dean, just barely, white-knuckled hand on his.

"Promise me you'll get out of this," Dean whispers. "Please. Just take your sister, and go. Don’t try to save me.”

“No,” Castiel snaps. “I’m not leaving you."

 

He wishes he could do more, but all he can do is make empty promises.

"It's not because—no. You have a family, alright?" Castiel chokes back the fear in his throat. "We're gonna get you back to them. Okay?”

Dean is quiet for a moment.

"I—I'm sorry."

His grip loosens.

"I think it's a little late for that," he whispers.

 

 

Castiel's blood turns to ice.

He whips his head around.

“Dean,” he whispers. “No.”

 

Dean lifts his head slowly, the jagged shard of glass falling from his fingers.

“They didn’t see,” he mumbles, fixing Castiel with broken eyes.

So familiar, so foreign.

 

Dean's knees are no longer bunched up against his chest, and the wound in his gut is visible now—bright and angry with blood.

“Don’t tell them,” he mumbles. “Please.”

Castiel panics, trying to reach for him.

"No, Dean, hey, _hey_ —“

“No, I just need—I need—“

His head sinks, his whole body trembling.

“Before they can save me for something worse, just—“

Dean whimpers.

“Please," he whispers. "Let me die.”

 

 

Castiel looks around wildly, panic threatening to overwhelm him. But his instincts kick in, years of training, and he starts feeling around behind him—and yes, there—something sharp. He starts to work at the rope tying his hands, the raw skin of his wrists stinging with every pass.

  

x

 

Naomi throws Anna to the ground again, bloody hands rolling up her sleeves.

"Oh, I wish I could have done this sooner," she murmurs.

Anna tries to shove herself up, spitting the metallic tang of blood from her mouth.

"And I wish you'd shut the fuck up," she grits out. "But we don't always get what we want."

 

Naomi merely smiles.

"Cute."

 

She seizes her hair, yanking Anna's head back.

"You don't have to pretend, sweet," she hisses. "I've had your brother on my table, I know the stench of Remington fear."

Anna struggles weakly, scratching at the arm crushing her throat.

“What the hell are you talking about?" She chokes out.

Naomi chuckles in her ear.

“Guess there really is a lot you don’t know about him.”

She grabs her forearm, spinning her around—and Anna whimpers involuntarily, a sting of pain shooting up her arm. She tries to mask her reaction, but Naomi’s sharp eyes miss nothing.

“And what do we have here?” She whispers.

 

The demon forces Anna to the ground, yanking up her sleeves. She brushes her fingers over the haphazard bandages, looking up slowly.

“Well,” Naomi breathes. “Looks like he's not the only one keeping secrets."

 

She digs her nails into the fresh cuts and Anna screams, doubling over. Naomi seizes her chin, dragging her face up.

“Silly human girl likes to play with demon magic," she hisses. Anna chokes, hands scraping weakly against Naomi's hold.

“Isn’t that what got you into this mess in the first place? Sent Castiel to hell?”

 

Naomi gets her hands around her throat, and Anna grabs her wrists, struggling in vain. The demon lets out a soft laugh, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen over her face.

“Looks like I will have to kill you after all."

She pulls out a switchblade, pressing the edge to Anna's throat. She stills, breathing hard.

“Can’t have you getting too powerful," Naomi murmurs.

 

Her hand moves, too fast to see—slashing her cheek. Anna cries out, unable to stop her yell.

“Yes,” Naomi breathes. “Let’s hear those pretty screams.”

 

x

 

 

Castiel can't breathe. This can't be real—Dean choking for breath beside him, Anna’s agonized voice in his ears.

He prays desperately, over and over in his mind, but no one comes to save them. There’s nothing.

 

 

 

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean sit up, ramrod straight.

Castiel nearly falls over, pulling against his ropes as he tries to catch a glimpse of his face.

Dean’s eyes are glazed over, his face blank.

“Yes,” he breathes.

Then his head falls, and he’s still.

 

 

Castiel screams.

“Dean. _Dean!_ ”

 

 

He didn’t know him, he hadn’t had enough time, but this shouldn’t happen, this isn’t fair—

“Dammit, Dean, _look at me_ —“

No answer. He’s gone limp.

 

Castiel yells again, trying to reach for him—

He yells until he has nothing else, pulling so hard at his bonds he thinks his wrists might break—

With a snap, he falls forward, the frayed ropes finally giving way. Castiel's frozen, in shock for a brief second. Then he jerks out of it, and strips the rest of the rope from his wrists, his heart pounding. He only has a couple seconds—

Castiel falls over to Dean, pulling his face in his hands. He’s not breathing.

“Dean!” He yells, shaking him. _“Dean!”_

 

A hand grabs his collar, and Castiel snarls—thrashing against it—but the demon pulls him away from Dean, Naomi's voice ringing out sharply.

“His turn. We can kill her later,” he hears her say.

Castiel pulls against the hand holding him, offering up a silent prayer—to Dean, to Sam, to God—

Anything.

 

 

The demon seizes him by the hair and jerks his head sideways—and Castiel chokes, his eyes falling on Anna, where she’s lying next to the table.

Her face is striped with harsh cuts, her breath shallow. Her terrified eyes find his—and Castiel snaps.

 

 

He grabs the demon holding him, flipping it on its back. Castiel gets in a few good punches before another tackles him—he wrestles it off and and elbows it in the face, snapping its wrist and sending it sprawling. There's an anger coursing through his veins unlike anything he's ever known. He just has to hit, to lash out, to hurt—

Castiel throws off another, knocking it flat, and whirls, snarling in rage—

And freezes.

 

Castiel barely dares to breathe, the sharp tip of a knife pressed to his throat.

“Ah ah ah," Naomi cautions. "I wouldn't move, if I were you."

 

 

Castiel clenches his fists, but he obeys, and doesn't move a muscle. Naomi's eyes are dark.

“One little nick, and all that beautiful blood comes rushing out.”

Castiel throws a glance at Anna. She shakes her head, her face pale. 

 

Naomi is breathing hard, her eyes murderous.

“Always trying my patience,” she hisses.

Castiel’s mind whirls, thinking furiously. He could probably move fast enough, he could disarm her, but one wrong move—

 

A strange light comes from behind her, soaking the air.

 

 

Every eye in the room turns to the strange glowing coming from behind them, all falling into heated silence. They stare at the silent body still tied to the metal beam, not 20 feet away.

Naomi hisses. She shoots a hot glare at Castiel, those white eyes burning into him.

Then she smiles cruelly, giving him a slight nod—as if to say, _soon._

 

Castiel gasps, the knife gone from his neck. The lackey demons around him all look around, bewildered, calling for their leader.

But Naomi is gone.

 

 

The glow strengthens, and suddenly, there's an earth-shattering noise—and Castiel is thrown back. He hits the ground, curling into a ball. He hears one of them scream, the sound of breaking glass, splintering wood, a high pitched whine—

The remaining windows blow out, exploding around them. When the chaos finally stops, and Castiel opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is Anna, hands clutching weakly at a wound in her thigh.

 

 

Castiel can’t even think about demons, or danger—he throws himself to Anna's side and pulls her into his lap, fumbling to stem the river of red pooling through his fingers.

“No, no, _Anna_ —“

She grabs his hand, gasping.

She’s so pale. She’s lost a lot of blood already.

 

Another blinding flash of light sears through the room, and Castiel searches for the source, jerking back in shock. It’s Dean—Dean tall and standing again, his eyes a piercing white. Soft swirling lines sink through Dean’s skin, and the light burns brighter, hotter—until Castiel has to shield his eyes.

He hears the demons shouting, there’s a crackling heat that flashes through the air—

 

And then it's gone. When Castiel lifts his head, shakily opening his eyes, they’re dead. They’re all dead.

 

 

 

The outline of his honeyed wings disappears, the light sinking back into Dean, focusing into his blinding irises before fading. He strides up to where Castiel’s sitting, reaching out a hand. Castiel’s heart leaps.

“Dean—?”

Dean doesn't look at him. He yanks Castiel away from Anna, kneeling and pressing a hand to her forehead. She surges in his arms, whole and healthy again. Castiel bolts for her.

“Anna—”

He helps her up, supporting her as she clings to his jacket, taking in the scene—Castiel’s frightened eyes, the ruined house around them—and the stony-faced Dean now walking over to where the demon has Raphael's knife clenched in her dead hand, eyes burnt out and smoldering.

“Dean—“

They both stare at him.

“What happened?” Anna calls out.

 

Dean stoops to collect the knife, wiping it briefly on his shirt before he walks back over to the pair of them. He wordlessly holds out the blade, hilt first.

Anna glances at Castiel, then cautiously takes it from Dean.

“Is it—is it you? I mean, are you—“

“It’s me, Anna,” Dean says flatly. “I will always be here when you are threatened.”

 

He gives her a slight nod, without so much as glancing at Castiel.

 

“Now.”

 

He extends a hand.

“Come with me.”

 

 

Anna frowns, shaking her head slightly.

“But Dean...what—“

She swallows. She still hasn’t let go of Castiel’s jacket.

“What’s going on?”

“That is not important,” Dean says automatically. “Come with me,” he says again.

Anna doesn’t. She backs away, one hand reaching out for her brother.

Castiel finds it and squeezes hard, his heart racing.

 

 

Dean merely watches the pair of them, his eyes alien and cold.

 

“Dean,” Anna whispers. “What happened to you?”

 

“Nothing happened to me.”

His voice is smooth, and dead. Empty.

 

Castiel’s skin crawls.

 

 

“Dean…”

Castiel swallows his fear, and reaching out, softly touches his arm.

Dean whips his head towards him, eyes flaring.

 

“Don’t touch me,” he hisses.

 

 

Dean's arm is suddenly white-hot underneath his fingers, and Castiel snatches his hand back, burned.

Dean fixes him with an inhuman glare.

“I have not yet been given the honor of killing you, but believe me,” he seethes. “I will not hesitate to break every last one of your bones.”

 

 

Beside him, Anna shrinks back, but Castiel is frozen, staring at him in shock.

 

Dean slowly walks forward, his voice low.

“I am a servant of Heaven, and I am only here to be a guardian.”

He draws up to his full height.

“You are of no consequence to me,” he hisses.

 

Castiel feels something inside him break.

“Dean,” he whispers, stepping back blindly.

 

 

 

Dean stalks forward, his voice boiling with barely-contained hatred.

“I may have forgotten my true purpose, but I learned my lesson.”

He looks down at him like Castiel is a bug, waiting to be squashed.

“I will protect my charge from any and all harm,” he hisses. “Pray that never includes you.”

 

Castiel’s heart is frozen into stone—but he’s not stupid. He takes a deep breath, stepping in front of Anna.

“You’re not touching my sister,” he warns. Anna’s hand tightens around his elbow. Castiel feels like his legs are going to give out any second.

“And if you do…”

Castiel steels himself, gritting his teeth.

“I’ll kill you,” he whispers.

 

Dean’s eyes flare with a bright light, and behind him, Castiel hears Anna's sharp intake of breath.

Dean smiles, a poisonous grin on his lips.

“Oh, oh.”

He rolls his neck, baring his teeth.

“You’re not in a position to make _threats_.”

 

 

Dean raises his arm and Castiel holds his breath, squeezing Anna's hand. He wants to run, but he knows it's useless.

 

 

A sharp whistle cuts through the air. They all whirl, staring at the angel with blood on her hand.

“Sorry, Dean,” Charlie whispers. Then she slams her hand against the wall.

 

 

A roar and another flash—and Dean disappears in a blaze of light. Anna lowers her arm, breathing heavily.

“ _Charlie_?”

She instantly materializes by their sides, clamping a hand around each of their wrists.

“We gotta go. _Now._ ”

 

 

They whirl and suddenly they’re in a forest—and then Charlie’s pulling something out of the air, a thin amulet covered in runes. She grabs Anna’s elbow and slips it over her head, settling it around her neck.

“Amulet to hide you,” she explains hastily. “And Sam’s putting up the last of the warding. We have to make sure Dean can’t get in.”

“What—“

Castiel can barely form the question before Sam appears, and they all jerk back again.

“Stop _doing_ that!” Castiel yells.

Sam quickly holds up his hands, starting to explain.

“Sorry, no time—just listen—“

 

He urges them forward, and they walk quickly beside him, his face dappled by the dark shadows of the trees.

“Dean’s back and at full power now,” Sam prefaces, taking a deep breath. “But it was them. Our superiors. They took him back to Heaven—“

Charlie cuts in.

“More like dragged him back—“

“But I was able to find Charlie and warn her,” Sam finishes. The two angels seem to be unhurt, but they both look shaken.

“But where—where is he—“

Charlie shakes her head.

“I had to banish him, Cas. I’m sorry.”

 

Anna takes a deep breath, pulling at the cord around her neck.

“What is this?”

“Dean’s still your guardian, which means he can always find you,” Charlie says. “The bond would have driven you straight into the angels’ hands without that amulet,” she finishes. “Do  _not_  take it off.”

Anna nods wordlessly.

"But how do you—how do you know—"

"I was there," Sam says darkly. "I saw it happen."

"You knew about this?"

"We didn't have a choice," he says. "We just knew we had to get a safe space for you, in case—"

"In case he went dark side," Charlie mutters.

 

They turn, and an old cabin comes into view, sitting inconspicuously amongst the trees. Castiel stops.

"Wait...I know this." 

He glances up. Sam tries to smile.

"Used to be your grandfather's, right? Spruced it up a bit."

As they approach the door, Charlie quietly takes Castiel's hand, passing a hand over the raw red marks on his wrists. They disappear instantly.

"Completely off the map," she says. "Took a while to get all that warding down, let me tell you."

Castiel shakes his head, trying to process all the information. Anna is quiet by his side, looking almost dazed. Sam pulls open the door.

 

"Listen—we'll be back as soon as we can, but right now you gotta get in there and get safe."

"Wait, Sam—"

Charlie squeezes Castiel's arm.

"We'll explain everything later, Cas. I promise."

 

They practically herd them inside, and Castiel whirls, wanting to yell at them— but they're already gone.

 

 

The two of them are left alone, in a strange cabin with too many questions.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reverse crypt scene. Yeah.

They stay up all night.

 

 

Anna yawns, struggling to keep her eyes open.

 

“Cas.”

 

She lifts her head from her cheek, rubbing her eyes.

“You’re gonna drive yourself crazy if you keep staring out that window,” she mumbles.

 

She’s sitting at one of the rickety chairs in the dusty kitchen, watching as Castiel glares at the lightening sky, waiting for the angels to return. Waiting for a sign. For anything.

“I never agreed to being on goddamn lockdown,” he growls. Anna sighs.

“I know," she says tiredly. "But think it’s best we just sit tight. Until we know more."

“But we could be out _there_ ,” Castiel shoots back, turning to face her. “Actually  _doing_  something, finding Dean, we could be—“

“Without knowing anything? Without a plan, without backup?” She rubs her temples, giving him that look. “Pretty damn stupid.”

 

Castiel digs his nails into his palms.

“I don’t want to just wait around,” he grits out.

“I’m sure they’re working on a way to get him back,” Anna says gently. “We just have to be patient.”

 

Castiel braces a hand against the counter, fuming. She's quiet.

"Look."

 

Anna scrubs a hand over her face, exhaling slowly.

“He’s back on Heaven’s side now, and probably dangerous as hell. So we wait. For Charlie and Sam. Okay?”

Castiel doesn’t respond. She raps her knuckles on the table.

“Hey.”

 

He glares at her.

“Okay?” She prompts again.

 

Castiel clenches his jaw.

“Fine.”

Anna relaxes slightly.

“Good.”

 

 

She stands, stretching out a kink in her back.

“Now come on. Give me a tour, would you?”

 

 

x

 

Castiel reluctantly leaves his post at the window, and Anna trails behind him as they move through the various rooms, taking it all in. 

“You ever been here before?”'

 

Castiel runs a hand through his hair, squinting a little as he tries to remember. 

“Just once. I think.”

He flips the light switch in the last room of the hall, and the dull light flickers to life, illuminating a small but jam-packed storeroom. 

“Shit,” he says, almost surprised. “Yeah." He steps into the room. "Must’ve been about six, seven?”

Anna hums a small assent behind him, poking at a cross hanging innocently on the wall. Castiel looks around—at the scattered stuff on the shelves, the books heaped haphazardly on the desk in the back corner—and despite himself, he smiles. It's odd—almost like a taste of the past, as if any moment, Dad would walk through the door, that sly grin on his face, telling them to pack up for another hunt and get on the road.

 

Anna starts digging through the dusty boxes on the shelf, but Castiel is drawn to the old corkboard on the back wall, littered with various articles and pieces of lore. He glances over the yellowing paper clippings, recalling some of the hunts. The crocatta in Charlottesville. Vamps in Ann Arbor. The changelings in San Jose. And there—

Castiel bites his lip, pulling the picture from where it's wedged into the frame of the board. Must’ve been from ages ago—it's all faded and worn—he can’t even remember who took it. It's the three of them. The Remingtons. Leaning back against the old pickup, Dad with a smile on his face, Anna shading her eyes from the sun. And him.

The Castiel in the photo can’t be more than thirteen, short enough to still fit under his father’s arm. He looks happy.

 

He runs a thumb over the edge of the photo, smiling absently.

"Damn."

Castiel glances up. Anna has a gun in her hands, turning it over, an expression of barely-contained awe on her face.

“The first pistol Dad ever gave me."

She aims it, squinting one eye shut. 

"Think I wore it out that same year from target practice.”

Castiel snorts, putting the picture back in its place. 

“'Cause you were jealous of me.”

 

Anna gives him a look, spinning the gun in her palm.

“Or because you had a head start.”

“Yeah, well.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, walking over to the messy desk. “You caught up soon enough.”

“Passed you soon enough,” she says airily, placing it back on the shelf.

 

Castiel rolls his eyes, bending down to look at the shelves on the far wall. Some curse boxes, some innocent-looking glass trinkets, a few stakes scattered here and there. Doesn't seem to be any method to the madness, any sort of organization. Someone really oughta clean this place up.

“Guess we never really looked into all the places Dad had," he says, peering closer at a rusty ornate key. “All those stashes, all around the country.”

“We should do that,” Anna says. “Y’know. When this is all over.”

 

Castiel looks up, nodding briefly.

They don’t say what they’re really thinking. That neither of them might make it to ‘after’.

 

 

 

“Well, I gotta hand it to them." Anna straightens, wiping her hands. "Charlie and Sam sure know how to pick a batcave.”

“You think the church really is unsafe?”

She shrugs, heading towards the hallway.

“If Dean told them everything. That’d be the first place I’d look.”

 

Castiel watches her slip out the doorway, but when he goes to follow her, something makes him stop.

He turns, staring at the back wall.

After a moment, he grabs the picture and tucks it into his wallet.

 

 

x

 

When he comes back to the kitchen, he discovers Anna in the middle of all their stuff, which has mysteriously appeared in the main room. She snorts, poking a box with her foot.

“Well. Guess I’ll unpack.”

She scoops up a couple of the smaller ones, calling over her shoulder. 

“Dibs on the back room!”

 

 

 

Castiel rolls his eyes, heading towards the sink. Luckily the fridge has already been stocked, the cabinets full of plates and silverware, but they've been untouched for what looks like years—all dusty and tarnished. Castiel sighs, and starts to pull them down to wash, glad to give his mind something else to concentrate on.

 

 

A slight noise comes from behind him, and he whirls, snatching up the butter knife from the counter.

“Oh.” Castiel quickly lowers it. “Sorry.”

 

 

Sam shakes his head.

“It’s okay.”

He sounds exhausted.

“We barely told you anything. I’d expect you to be a little cautious.”

 _Damn right,_ Castiel thinks.

 

“Sorry for the hasty exit,” Sam says. “But a cluster of demons was descending on the spot, and with Dean—“

He stops.

“We just had to get you out of there," he continues quietly. "But I brought you something." He lifts up an earthen jar.

 

 

“Holy oil?” Castiel repeats, once Sam explains.

“Yes.”

Sam sets the jar on the table.

“Worse case scenario that you’ll have to use it, but I figured you should have some around, just in case.” He sinks into one of the seats, his eyes unfocused. “If an angel does manage to find you,” he mutters tiredly, rubbing his face.

 

 

"Sam."

Castiel moves forward, gently lowering his voice. 

“What happened to Dean?" He asks. "Really?”

 

Sam is silent. Castiel sits softly opposite him.

“Sam.”

 

He seems to snap out of his spell at that, and he looks up, meeting Castiel’s worried eyes.

“They took him back,” he whispers. “Dragged him out of his body and back upstairs.”

“But, but—why—“

“Hell isn’t the only place with experts in torture,” Sam says bitterly. Castiel grips the edge of the table.

“Who knows how long they had him,” he mutters. “But he’s uh…reset to factory settings, I guess you could say.” He gestures around them. “That’s why this place was necessary. We figured they’d find out about the church eventually, but now that they’ve got Dean…it’s certain.”

 

Sam nods at the wall behind him, and Castiel looks up to see the outline of bright sigils, etched into the walls of the cabin.

“Best protection we can give you—no angels will be able to appear, except for me n’ Charlie.”

He clears his throat.

“Does that answer your questions?”

Castiel bites his lip, but he nods.

They both fall silent, Castiel processing the new information, Sam running his fingers distractedly through his hair.

 

 

There’s only the sounds of Anna in the back, humming slightly to herself as she moves things into their bedrooms. Castiel picks at his fingers.

 

 

 

“How do we get him back?” He asks quietly.

Sam sighs.

“Charlie’s working on possible ways to break through to him,” he says eventually. “Lilith and company are still looking for you, but they’ve got bigger things on their mind at the moment.”

He glances up, his voice cracked.

“We think Abaddon may have finally taken a vessel.”

 

 

Castiel holds his breath.

“Really?” He whispers. Sam nods gravely.

“Omens all point to it. But we can't know for sure.”

“Shit,” Castiel mutters.

 

 

"But, uh...there is some good news."

 

Castiel looks up. There's a slight smile on Sam's lips. 

“Brought you your car back."

 

Castiel's heart lifts slightly.

“Yeah?”

Sam shrugs. 

“Yeah. It’s not the safest thing for you two to keep going on hunts, but we’re not trying to lock you away. I  _would_  tell you staying inside is the best option, but somehow I don’t think you’ll listen to me.”

Castiel feels himself smiling.

“You would be right.”

 

Sam chuckles slightly.

“I don’t blame you." He rubs his arm, his smile fading. "I know how it feels to be trapped in one place for too long.”

 

Castiel looks away, a strange guilt burning in his throat.  Sam almost looks as if he might say something else—but seems to think better of it. Instead he stands, pacing restlessly around the small kitchen. Castiel traces a finger over the worn grooves in the table, trying to ignore the strained silence between them.

 

“I—I feel like I owe you an apology.”

 

 

Castiel looks up, frowning.

“What?”

 

Sam shakes his head, one hand twisting nervously in the front of his shirt. Castiel notices he’s abandoned the suit.

“For this. For all of this. Giving you no information, barely stopping to explain. For being so…distant.”

He turns, a slight edge of desperation in his voice.

“And I know you still don’t trust me. You shouldn’t. I haven’t earned that.”

Castiel swallows.

“Sam…”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says frankly, meeting his eyes. “For the way I acted. For earlier. I was just completely focused on saving Dean, and I…I didn’t stop to think of the consequences my actions would have on others. On you.”

He laughs shortly, shaking his head.

“And, really. I haven’t spoken to anyone in so long, and humans, well…ever.”

Sam shrugs.

“I was a dick,” he says, completely serious.

 

Castiel can’t help it, he smiles.

“Yeah,” he says. “Kind of.”

Sam smiles too, but it’s slightly sad. Castiel taps his fingers against his thigh, trying to work up his courage.

“If I…if I can ask.”

Castiel swallows. Sam is looking at him curiously.

 

“Why did you join Abaddon?” He asks softly.

 

Sam immediately sobers, and Castiel holds his breath, wondering if he stepped over the line. But then, he answers him.

“She wasn’t called the devil back then,” Sam says softly. “She was our Father’s favorite. We all loved her. Admired her. So powerful. So beautiful.”

He’s quiet for a minute, looking over the sigils on the wall, glowing slightly in the dim light.

“And I was ready to follow her to the ends of the earth. She came to me, came to so many of us, speaking of love and family and protecting the earth…I thought she meant you. Humans.”

Sam turns, his voice bitter.

“But she just meant our Father’s creation. She would wipe the plague of humanity from this perfection and start anew.”

The lights flicker slightly.

“And now, she’s back,” he mutters. “She’s back and everything’s different.”

He’s growing more and more agitated, and Castiel stands quickly, holding out a hand.

“Sam, it’s alright—”

“It was so much easier when I didn’t feel anything,” Sam whispers.

 

 

Castiel stops. He doesn't know what to say.

 

The angel is wringing his hands, his eyes squeezed shut.

 

“And it’s my fault,” Sam grits out. “At the warehouse—I was waiting with him, and when they showed…”

His voice drops off, and he stares unblinking at the wall.

“I just didn’t want anymore to die,” he says hoarsely. “I couldn’t do it, and Dean stepped in, and—“

Castiel is frozen. Sam lowers his head.

“That’s when they got him. All because I was a coward,” he finishes bitterly.

 

Castiel manages to get his voice working again.

“You’re not a coward.”

Sam looks up, but Castiel can’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

“There is nothing shameful in refusing to take another’s life,” he says softly. He looks down.

“I wish I could say my slate was as clean,” Castiel mutters.

 

He chances a glance up, to see Sam watching him thoughtfully. Castiel feels small under that intent gaze. But Sam’s eyes are soft.

“You have a good heart, Castiel,” he says softly. “Now I see why.”

 

Castiel frowns.

“Why what?”

Sam smiles sadly.

Then he’s gone.

 

 

x

 

 

The next day finds Gabriel settled in one of the cabin’s larger rooms, safely ensconced with his books and his snark.

Castiel waited as long as he could, but it was barely twenty minutes after breakfast when he found himself heading to the room Gabriel had chosen to set up as his study.

He opens up the door.

 

“Hey, Gabe—“

“—We know what you need. You need  _Casa Erotica_ —“

Gabriel slams his laptop shut.

 

 

 

Castiel stands frozen in the doorway, his eyes covered with his hand.

“Gabriel. Seriously?”

Gabriel huffs.

“You’re the one who entered without knocking, kiddo.”

 

 

Castiel peeks an eye open, and once he concludes it’s safe, he slides into the room, pulling up the chair opposite him. Gabriel taps his pen against his cheek, quirking up an eyebrow.

“So. Can I help you?”

 

 

Castiel quickly explains the whole situation. Gabriel knew most of it from Sam, but he raises his eyebrows at Castiel’s request.

 

“We could trap him, I suppose,” Castiel mumbles, almost to himself. “Sam left us that holy oil, and if we just got the chance to talk to him—“

“Cas.” Gabriel twirls his pen, jabbing it at him. “Honestly, what’s the big deal?”

“What?”

Gabriel snorts.

“Why do you need to find him again? It’s not like he’s done that much for us. Just gotten us into a whole lot of trouble, as far as I’m concerned.” He leans back in his chair, shrugging. “He’s just become another angel to avoid.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“He’s—“

He falters, trying to come up with a good excuse.

“He’s…Anna’s guardian. Possibly the best weapon we’ve got against the goddamn apocalypse—this crazy fucking thing we’ve landed ourselves in—“

Gabriel narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to argue.

“I just think…having him back will be a…an asset. For all of us.”

“Ooookay,” Gabriel says slowly. “But, c’mon, Cas. Really?” He laces his hands behind his head, propping his feet up. “All of this to get him right and back in his head…is it really worth it?”

“Of course it’s worth it."

Gabriel smirks, pursing his lips.

“Oh,  _okay_ , Cassie. Didn’t realize you had a crush—“

“And so what if I do?” Castiel snaps. 

 

Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

Castiel winces. Fuck.

 

 

Gabriel sits up, a devilish smile playing around his lips.

“Well. Cas-ti-el. Wouldn’t have guessed.”

Castiel sighs, bracing himself for the inevitable.

“But figures. He was giving you heart eyes practically twenty four seven.”

 

Castiel gapes at him.

“Didn’t figure you to be a…do they even have a word for it?” Gabriel muses. “Someone who only goes for that particular strain of supernatural…”

He taps a finger to his chin, thinking.

“Angelphiliac, maybe?”

Castiel rubs the back of his neck, grumbling under his breath.

“Shut up.”

 

Gabriel laughs, standing and crossing over to his somehow already overflowing bookshelf.

“Well, here we go. Summoning spell for douchebag guardian angels. And, uh, Cassie, when we get him back…”

He trails off, tossing a book at him, opened up to the proper spell. Castiel catches it and looks up at him, curious.

Gabriel shrugs.

“Just keep it down at night.”

 

And with that Gabriel dips out, leaving Castiel with his mouth hanging open.

 

 

x

 

 

He moves slowly, easing the door closed behind him. He creeps down the dark hallway, conscious of every creak and noise beneath his feet. He curls his hand around the handle of the front door, finally letting himself relax. Made it.

 

“And where do you think you’re going?”

 

Castiel freezes.

He dips his head, cursing under his breath.

He had been so damn close.

 

He turns, dropping the bag from his shoulder. Anna is glaring at him from the couch, her arms crossed. She must have been sitting there all night, to catch Castiel if he tried to do exactly what he just tried to do. He sighs.

“Anna—“

“Don’t you think using me is a little easier than some complicated ritual?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

Castiel blinks.

“What?”

 

 

Anna stands, gripping at the pendant around her neck.

“You’re not doing this alone, Cas,” she says.

 

 

“I want him back, too.”

 

 

x

 

 

 

They drive until they agree on a place, which ends up being an old cement plant, still smelling faintly of chemicals and paint from the graffiti on the walls. They’re silent as they set up the room, and once they’re ready, Anna moves to Castiel's side, briefly squeezing his hand.

 

“So.”

 

She gives a short laugh, gesturing at the amulet.

“I just pull this off, and he should show, right?”

Castiel swallows, his throat dry.

“Guess so.”

 

She nods, reaching up, quickly ripping the cord from her neck.

 

 

 

They stand there, absolutely still.

But nothing happens.

Anna clenches the amulet in her fist, motionless.

 

 

The minutes tick by, agonizingly slow. They barely say ten words altogether, tensing at every little sound. Castiel ends up hunched by their bag of supplies, nervously turning over his gun in his hands. Anna is chewing at the corner of her thumb, her eyes darting everywhere.

“Don’t like this,” she mutters. Castiel glances up. She drops her hand.

“What the hell is he waiting for?”

 

Castiel swallows. He can’t make his voice work, so he just shrugs.

 

 

He's flipping through the book Gabriel gave him, wondering if they should take a stab at the summoning spell—when an ear-splitting noise sounds from outside, shattering the dark night. A car alarm. 

  
Castiel jerks up, and Anna stands too, her face pale.

“Stay here,” she whispers hoarsely, starting towards the battered door. “I’ll go check it out.”

Castiel hisses at her.

“No, we should stick together—“

 

But she’s already pulling Raphael’s knife, disappearing into the shadows. Castiel almost runs after her.

“Anna—“

 

 

But she’s gone.

 

Castiel swears, gripping the gun in his hand. He wheels around, his pulse pounding. He stands frozen, listening, waiting for the slightest sound.

 

Everything goes quiet.

 

 

 

The alarm abruptly cuts out. The wind stills, every last sound dying away—even the crickets outside have stopped chirping. It’s eerily silent.

The only thing Castiel can hear is his own breath, his unsteady heartbeat thudding against his chest.

 

 

 

The windows shatter.

 

 

 

Castiel ducks, throwing up an arm to shield himself. The ground beneath his feet jolts, glass clattering around him. He looks up cautiously, breathing hard.

The glass around him starts moving, vibrating across the floor as a high-pitched whine starts—growing louder and louder until Castiel has to cover his ears—and the next row of windows start wobbling dangerously.

He shoves himself up, the nicks in his skin stinging, and he runs—barely keeping ahead of it, each row of windows blowing out after him. He dives, curling up into a ball, the last shards crashing down around him. Castiel stays motionless until it stops, then lifts his head, shakily pushing himself up, glass cutting into his palms. He pulls his revolver.

 

 

Behind him comes the soft sound of wings, echoing in the empty room. Castiel whirls, raising his gun. He backs away slightly, keeping it pointed directly at the figure silently emerging from the shadows.

“Dean,” he breathes.

 

 

 

The angel clasps his hands behind his back, staring him down.

He doesn’t speak.

 

Castiel darts his eyes everywhere, and slowly drops his other hand to his pocket.

_Anna, where are you?_

 

 

“I—I have to talk to you.”

 

He tries to go slow, moving backwards towards the door. Dean’s eyes track his movements.

“And what could we possibly have to discuss?” He asks silkily.

Castiel backs away from him, eyes flicking down. Just a few more feet…

“I think you know,” he grits out, thumbing the catch.

But the angel just sneers.

“I don’t have time for this.”

 

 

Dean steps forward, glass crunching under his feet. Castiel tightens his grip, but stands his ground.

The angel raises a hand, his palm glowing white.

 

 

Castiel whips his hand from his pocket and sparks the lighter, throwing it to the ground.

He burns in triumph when it hits its mark—catching the edge of the oil and igniting—sharp flames shooting up, trapping Dean.

“How ‘bout now?” Castiel sneers. “You got time for it?”

 

 

Dean lowers his hand, glaring mutinously at the fire encircling him, the shadows from the flames illuminating the hate on his face.

He slowly turns to face Castiel.

 

“Release me.”

 

The command is soft. Dangerous.

 

Castiel doesn’t move.

“No.”

Dean barely holds back his snarl.

“You are playing a very dangerous game, _human_.”

The fire licks its way up Dean’s features, distorting them in the uneven light, and he seems taller, menacing—monstrous even. Castiel clenches his jaw.

“Dean,” he says quietly. “What happened? What is going on with you?”

 

“Nothing happened to me,” Dean snaps. “This is how it’s supposed to be. How…I’m…supposed to be.”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel shoots back.

Dean’s hands curl into fists. He looks pale, so pale against the dark of his suit—unfamiliar and cold. He’s not the soft Dean, the Dean of cotton and sunlight that Castiel knows. This is the angel of legend, the unknowable creature of power and wrath that could kill him with a snap of his fingers.

 

“I have one job,” Dean whispers, the hate in his voice cutting into Castiel’s heart. “And that is to ensure that Anna Remington survives long enough to fulfill her destiny.”

His eyes have glazed over, like he’s reciting a memorized passage of text.

“She shall serve her true purpose and bring about our day of reckoning,” he breathes, “resulting in paradise for God and man.”

 

Castiel starts.

“What— _survives_  long enough—“

He takes a jerky step forward, barely inches away from the flames.

“What exactly happens in this apocalypse of yours?” He shouts. “What are you going to do to her?”

Dean is impassive.

“She has to die. It is written.”

“Then unwrite it!” Castiel fires back.

“That isn’t possible,” Dean hisses.

“Why not? You’ve broken the rules before, you pulled me out—“

“And I was punished for that,” Dean snarls. “I learned my lesson.”

 

 

Castiel stares at him. He feels like he’s drowning, the air pressing in on him, and with every word, it's getting harder to breathe.

“So, what?” He spreads his arms. “This is what you were created for?”

He laughs, but it’s hollow, edging on frantic.

“To raise her like some animal for the slaughter—“

Dean sighs, disinterested eyes flicking away.

“That is a rather crude metaphor. But I suppose it is appropriate.”

Castiel clenches his fists,watching as Dean paces inside the fire, looking for a break, a possible weakness in the flames. But he doesn’t find one.

 

“This isn’t right.”

 

Dean ignores him. Castiel stalks around the circle, trying to meet his eyes.

“The Dean I know would never roll over like this. He would tell them to stick it where the sun don’t shine.”

“Classy,” Dean says monotonously.

 

Castiel stops, breathing hard. He had been hoping, desperately clinging to the hope that there might be something of Dean left—even if it was just a single shred—something Castiel could reach out to. But now, he feels his heart growing cold.

 

“Dean,” he whispers. “This isn’t you.”

 

 

 

 

Dean turns so suddenly that Castiel falters, taking a step back.

“You know nothing about me,” Dean snarls. He moves forward, but the flames flare, and he stops, face contorted in fury.

“You insect,” he hisses. “You have created nothing but trouble. If you were not so important to Anna, we would have removed you long ago.”

Even trapped by the holy oil, Dean is terrifying. Castiel reaches into his jacket, pulling out the blade Dean had given him all those months ago. He clings to the handle, his fingers shaking.

 

Dean pauses, slowly looking him up and down. Then, he laughs.

“You going to kill me?”

 

 

Castiel doesn’t answer. He just tightens his grip.

Dean sneers.

“Oh, I really doubt it. You’re too invested." He clasps his hands behind his back, his spine straight and callous.

“Curious…human attachments.”

He glances at Castiel again, regarding him with a sort of disinterested amusement.

“So breakable,” he murmurs. Castiel swallows heavily.

 

“Dean—“

Dean snaps, hissing through his teeth.

“You mean nothing to me.  _Nothing_.”

Castiel flinches, but he doesn’t move.

Dean is furious.

“I’m only stuck in this hellhole of an earth until Alastair brings Paradise,” he says ruthlessly. Castiel shakes his head.

“Dean—“

“Just a while longer, just until she says yes, and then we will kill you,” Dean seethes. “I will ask to do it myself, watch you bleed underneath my hands—and I will enjoy every second of it.”

 

Castiel cannot move. His instincts are screaming at him to run, his heart thudding against his ribs, a horrible gnawing agony twisting his stomach.

“Then why did you do it?” He snarls, unable to stop himself.

 

 

 

 

Dean doesn’t react.

 

Castiel grits his teeth, his voice shaking.

“Why did you pull me out of Hell?” 

 

Disgust creeps across Dean’s features.

 

“I was weak,” he mutters. “And I was mistaken.”

Castiel digs his nails into his palm.

“What are you talking about?”

 

Dean’s face is no longer angry, but numb, expressionless.

 

“I had some foolish notion that I was in love with you.”

 

 

 

 

Castiel’s blade drops to the floor.

 

“But I was wrong,” Dean says flatly. “I understand that now.”

The monotone has returned, his face blank.

“Angels do not love,” he says. “Angels cannot love.”

 

Castiel is numb. Dean’s lips curl into a sneer.

“All those years of watching you alongside Anna…”

He trails off, studying Castiel’s grief with a sort of indifferent disgust.

“I suppose I got…sentimental.”

Castiel’s muscles start working again, and he kneels slowly.

“But I have seen the error of my ways.”

 

Castiel’s hand finds the blade and stands, gripping it so hard his hand starts to hurt.

Anna. He has to find Anna.

 

“Ohh—oh. I see.”

Dean’s laughter echoes throughout the room.

“You’re going to leave me here?”

 

Castiel forces himself to walk away, refusing to listen.

“If you do, you will regret it.  _Castiel_.”

_“Cas!”_

Anna.

 

Castiel whirls—just as she rounds the corner and hurtles towards him, pure terror on her face.

“Run!” She yells. “ _Run!”_

 

Her fingers find Castiel’s for a brief moment, holding tight—

Then the thing strikes, throwing them both to the ground.

 

 

 

Castiel hits stone, his blade knocked from his hands. He rolls up into a protective crouch, hands coming up to guard.

Another angel—staring him down, hatred on his face.

 

Anna scrambles away behind him. Her gun is lying on the floor, ten feet away.

Both of them weaponless. Both of them useless.

 

“Brother. Stop.”

 

 

Dean’s voice hangs eerily over them, the flickering shadows of the fire dancing on the wall. Castiel catches a glimpse of his face, but it’s unreadable.

The other angel produces his own blade, smiling prettily. Castiel tenses.

 

He grabs Anna's hand, and they try to run—but it appears in their path, grinning.

“Not so fast.”

It grabs Anna’s arm, yanks her forward—

The angel seizes her neck, plunging its blade into her stomach.

 

Anna only makes a sound of choked surprise before she collapses, sliding messily to the floor.

 

 

Castiel’s scream is lost in Dean’s own roar of fury. They both bolt forward, but Dean’s trapped by the fire—unable to heal her.

“ _Gordon_ ,” he shouts. “You incompetent son of a bitch—“

“Calm down,” the angel spits. He whirls, starting to circle around Castiel. “I’ll heal her up soon enough.” 

He sneers.

“Just need to take care of lover boy here first.”

 

Castiel tries to get to her, but the angel seizes his neck and shoves him against the wall, not two feet from Dean’s prison. Castiel scrabbles at his hold, gasping.

“Gotcha,” the angel leers, a meaty hiss in Castiel’s face.

“Gordon, leave him.”

 

Dean moves as close as he can to the fire without hurting himself.

“Just release me. Let me heal Anna.”

Gordon tears his eyes from Castiel’s, sneering.

“Why? You can always resurrect her.”

 

 

Anna is choking, a dribble of blood at the corner of her mouth. She weakly covers the wound in her stomach, struggling to sit up.

Dean watches her, a strange expression on his face.

 

Castiel pulls uselessly at the hand around his throat, but the angel’s grip is like iron. Gordon grins evilly.

“The thorn in Heaven’s side,” he says, tightening his fingers. “The dead man who wouldn’t stay dead.”

“Yeah, well.” Castiel musters a defiant snarl. “You’ve got your brother to thank for that.”

Gordon’s smile turns into an ugly growl.

“Easily fixed.”

 

The angel raises his blade, eyes flashing in triumph.

 

Castiel kicks out, jerking to the side—and hot silver comes down on hard stone, just missing him. He manages to twist out of the grip, spying his own weapon, lying just out of reach—

He ducks just in time as Gordon lashes out again, barely avoiding the sharp edge that whistles past his neck.

 

Castiel’s mind whirls furiously—he dodges another strike, his heart freezing when his eyes fall on Anna—panting for breath, the floor around her quickly turning red.

Castiel throws himself away from the next attack, but when the angel raises his hand, something falls into place.

 

_If you’re unarmed—_

 

Castiel instinctively reaches up, a short shock of pain jolting through him when Gordon’s blade cuts into his arm.

_Don’t get hit in the neck_

Castiel ducks, rolling quickly and scrambling away from him.

_The chest, the stomach_

Castiel snarls and kicks Gordon in the chest on his next attack, sending him flying backwards.

_Better_

 

He sees a flash of silver—his abandoned blade, lying next to Anna. She makes eye contact.

She jerks up and slides it to him, even though it causes her to slip, falling again. Castiel’s stomach twists as he scoops it up, stepping back to face Gordon. He laughs cruelly.

 

“Think you can take me on?”

Gordon flips the blade in his hand, sneering at him.

"You're nothing," he hisses. "Just a useless little maggot interfering with God’s plan.”

Castiel growls lowly, but he doesn’t sacrifice his position.

 

Never make the first move.

 

 

The angel's voice grows cold.

“And a coward, too.”

He lunges forward. Castiel barely evades him, and when Gordon lashes out, Castiel brings up his blade for the counter just in time—

Then he's running again.

 

It's not a fight. Gordon is toying with him.

 

The angel advances on him, laughing.

"This is just pathetic."

Castiel blocks blow after blow, his heart pounding, his muscles screaming with exhaustion. The wound in his forearm throbs weakly, blood trickling down his hand. He can't get any of his own hits—he's completely overwhelmed by this angel, this brute being of force and power. Gordon is going to kill him.

 

He's finally too slow, and Gordon catches him on the shoulder, a clean slice through the muscle.

Castiel cries out and stumbles, dropping to one knee.

 

 

"Too easy."

 

Castiel lifts his head. Gordon is advancing on him, a smug smile on his face. But behind him—Anna is trying to push herself up, fingers fumbling for her gun. Castiel's heart lurches.

 

“But still," the angel sneers. "You're only human."

Castiel tries to breathe, his heart pounding. He catches sight of Dean’s face, impassive behind Gordon’s shoulder.

 

Gordon raises his blade, smiling down at him. 

"Goodbye, Castiel," he whispers.

 

 

He pulls his arm back to strike—and that's when Anna’s bullet rips through his shoulder.

Gordon whirls, hissing. His eyes flare with anger, and he advances on her, snarling.

 

Castiel pushes himself up with the last of his strength—his shoulder screams with pain as he seizes Gordon's arm, shoving the blade into his back. 

“Dead,” Castiel snarls.

 

 

 

He rips the blade away, and Gordon's eyes suddenly burn a muted white, fury turning into shock.

Castiel drops the blade, gripping at his shoulder, blood leaking through his fingers. He backs away as Gordon drops to his knees, the white light almost consuming him.

 

With a roar, the angel's grace explodes—and Castiel is thrown back, bright light flaring all around them.

Castiel catches a brief glimpse of the outline of burnt wings on the ground—Anna’s terrified face, and then—

Pain.

 

Castiel gasps, shoving away from the flames now climbing up his side—

Then there’s a hand, seizing his collar and jerking him up. The hand wrenches him out of the fire, and for a brief moment, Castiel thinks he’s about to be saved.

 

He manhandles him, turning Castiel around to face him. All the air disappears from his lungs.

Dean is glaring down at him, eyes utterly impassive. Castiel’s arms are pinned behind his back, his legs shaking, the terrible angel holding him the only thing helping him stand.

 

He raises a hand, and Castiel flinches. But Dean only lays soft fingers on his forehead, almost gentle.

“You idiot,” he whispers.

Castiel can’t think. He just stares.

“You goddamn idiot,” Dean breathes.

 

 

He jerks Castiel around and shoves him down.

 

 

Castiel yells, smothering half the flames as he rolls out of it, scrambling away. Dean quickly darts through the break and advances on Anna, his eyes cold.

Castiel shouts for her, stumbling forward.

“No—“

Through the smoke, the fog and the pain, Castiel hears her plead.

“Dean…no…d-don’t…”

Dean locks a hand around Anna's arm, healing her quickly. She tries to stop him, pulling at his shirt.

“Please, Dean,  _please—_ just let us talk to you—“

“No.”

 

Dean presses two fingers to Anna's forehead, and she drops immediately, unconscious. Dean scoops her up into his arms—and Castiel desperately lunges forward, reaching out a hand.

“No,  _Dean,_  wait—“

He stops dead. Castiel freezes too, holding his breath.

 

“Dean?” He asks cautiously.

Dean takes a step back, faltering.

“Don’t—“

He stumbles and sinks to his knees, Anna sliding out of his arms and crumpling on the floor. Dean hunches over, his hands barely supporting himself. Castiel kneels down, barely three feet away now.

“Hey, hey…”

He inches forward.

“Dean. Look at me.”

And he does. Dean looks up and meets his eyes, and Castiel swears there’s something there, something fighting to break through—

 

But then it’s as if something has seized him, and Dean bolts upright, his eyes flashing silver.

  

_End this, Dean. End this now._

A harsh light envelops him, and when it fades, Dean is standing again, staring at him with an inhuman glare. Castiel’s heart stops.

 

“You are determined to be a threat to my charge,” Dean intones. “You cannot be allowed to live any longer.”

 

 

In an instant he’s in front of Castiel, dark and terrifying—and he seizes him, a hand clamped around his throat.

“No, no— _Dean_ —“

Castiel fumbles, his hands scrabbling at his hold as Dean squeezes the last trace of air from his lungs, eyes burning down at him.

“P-please—“

Dean pulls him up and throws him across the room. Castiel hits the wall, feeling something within him snap.

He crumples, gasping. He tries to push himself up, but pain shoots through his back, and he realizes he can’t feel his legs.

 

Then Dean is in front of Castiel again, pulling him up by the front of his shirt, striking him across the face.

“You—will—die,” he hisses, landing another punch. Castiel chokes, spitting blood.

“No—no,” he gasps, weakly tugging at his hold.

Dean seizes his arm and twists it, Castiel crying out as his bones break.

Dean doesn’t stop—he hits him until his face is raw and bloody, and Castiel coughs up red, gasping.

 _Please, no_ , he thinks.

_Not like this._

Castiel can barely see Dean through the fog clouding his vision, but he reaches out a battered hand, grasping blindly.

“This isn’t you—D-Dean…”

 His fingers find his wrist, clutching tight.

“ _Fight it_ , come on, come on—“

_Kill him. Kill him now._

Dean’s skin sears white-hot, his eyes lost in a silver haze.

No,  _no_ —

Castiel is thrown back, everything black and hot and pain.

This isn’t how it's supposed to go—

“I lost everything because of you,” Dean seethes, curling his hand into a fist.

“I gave  _everything_ —for you—“

Castiel slumps, his frame shaking as Dean hits him again. Even if he had the strength, he wouldn’t fight back. He just takes it, blow after blow, letting Dean utterly ruin him.

“And look what you’ve done to me—“ Dean growls, nails digging into his skin.

 

_Send him back to Hell._

“Dean,” Castiel pleads, trying to meet his eyes. “Dean…please…”

Dean yanks him up and throws him across the floor, landing a harsh kick to his side. Castiel feels something within him fail, the organs inside shutting down, his heart pumping furiously as it tries desperately to keep him alive.

_And then all of this will be over._

 

Dean seizes Castiel by the neck and drags him up to his knees, his own silver blade sliding into his hand. He pulls it back, ready to strike.

“N-no. No. Dean.”

 

Castiel blindly fumbles for him, calling out his name.

“Dean—I know you’re in there.”

 

Castiel reaches up, his hand grasping at nothing.

“It’s me, Dean—“

He grabs at his sleeve, curling his fingers around the black of his suit, a last desperate plea.

“Dean. Please.”

 

 

Dean is silent as he stares down at Castiel, frozen. In his hand, the blade glints dangerously, inches from Castiel's neck.

 

Castiel coughs the blood from his mouth.

“We need you,” he rasps. “I need you.”

 

Castiel gasps, trying to see him, one last time.

“Dean.”

He tightens the grip on his sleeve.

“I—I lo—“

 

He looks up, the angel before him vast and terrible, utterly impassive—and Castiel breaks. 

 

“I love you,” he chokes out. “I love you.”

 

 

 

Dean doesn’t move, eyes still burning with a metallic sheen. But he releases Castiel, who collapses, desperately clutching at his broken arm.

He hears the blade clatter to the floor, and then there’s a hand on his skin, fingers clutching at Castiel’s cheek.

He wants to fight against it, trying to pull away from him.

“Dean—Dean—No—“

Dean drops to his knees in front of him, and Castiel gives up.

He never thought it would end like this. That they would end like this.

His eyes slide out of focus—

All he can feel is Dean’s hand on his face.

 

_Please_

At least it'll be quick.

 

_Please. Forgive me, Dean._

Castiel closes his eyes, waiting for it.

A blazing heat shocks through him, an electric spark under his skin—and Castiel gasps, eyes flying open as Dean’s grace knits his bones and mends his skin, his injuries instantly healed.

He looks up, utterly in shock. Dean is shaking.

"Cas," he blurts. "I'm sorry—shit, I'm so sorry—“

"Dean—“

"I didn't—I didn't mean to," Dean gasps, staring down at his blood-covered hands. "I didn't—“

Castiel fumbles for his face, shaking his head.

"It wasn't you, it wasn't you—“

Dean meets his eyes, once again that soft green, welling with tears.

"I'm sorry," he says desperately. "Cas, _Cas_ —I—“

Castiel kisses him.

 

 

He kisses him. He kisses and kisses him, cradling Dean's face in his hands, pulling him as close as he can—until Dean melts under his touch, finally wrapping his arms around Castiel and kissing him back.

"Cas," he chokes out. Castiel shushes him, a hand on his lips.

"It's okay—Dean, it's okay—“

“I—I hurt you,” Dean says, nearly crying. "I—“

 

Castiel stops his words, pulling him to his chest. Dean buries his face in Castiel's neck, trembling in his arms. Castiel closes his eyes, clinging to Dean tightly, trying to reassure himself that this is real.

“You’re back,” he whispers. “You came back to me.”

Everything is floating, surreal. Castiel’s heart is racing, threatening to burst out of his chest. Because it’s Dean, it’s  _Dean_  and he’s back—warm and crying in his arms—

Because his angel rebelled for him. Again.

Castiel feels a wetness sting his cheeks, the slide of hot tears as Dean pulls him down to kiss him again, apologies lost between their lips.

_  
_

A crack sounds from outside and Dean turns his head, but Castiel doesn’t want to let go, clinging to his jacket.

“They’re coming,” he breathes. He turns back to Castiel, hands finding his face. “Cas we—we have to go—we have to get out of here—"

Castiel wipes the tears from Dean's cheeks, nodding shakily. He sees the shift in Dean's expression, the hard protectiveness slide back into place, and Castiel's heart aches. Why do they always have to run?

 

Dean finds Castiel's hand and pulls him up, running over to where Anna is lying, unconscious on the ground. Dean dips down, locks a hand around her wrist and then—

Then they’re stumbling across the dirty wet ground, the car in sight, Anna awake and confused against them.

“I— _Dean?_ “

“No time to explain—” Dean pants, eyes darting everywhere. “Do you have someplace? The church—”

Castiel shakes his head.

“My grandfather’s cabin—Sam and Charlie made it for us—“

Dean’s hand finds his temple and Castiel’s mind flashes with the memory of the cabin, the sloping woods around them—

 

The world shifts again, and then they’re running in the sparse forest behind the cabin, its light shining dimly through the trees. They rush up to the door, and Anna glares at them, yanking open the door.

"Either of you want to tell me what the hell just happened?"

Castiel ignores her, trying to pull Dean towards the cabin—but he jerks back, his face white.

 

“No. Get inside,” Dean orders, his eyes wild. “I’ll get to Sam, we’ll head them off—“

“ _No_ —“

"Cas—“

"I just got you back, don't leave _again_ —“

“I’ve put you in enough danger,” Dean chokes out. "I can't let that happen again—"

“I don’t care," Castiel snarls. 

“ _No_ , Cas!” He yells.

 

Castiel stares at him. Dean shakes his head, his eyes thick with pain.

“You almost died, both of you, I almost—“

He cuts off, shaking. Anna is watching them, frozen.

“Please,” Dean says finally, his voice trembling. “I’ll come back if I can, but I…”

He doesn't finish, just staring at him. Castiel clings to Dean's hands, shaking his head.

"No," he grits out weakly.

"Cas."

Anna is quiet.

 

"Let him go."

 

Castiel glares at her. She drops her gaze to the ground, disappearing inside. Castiel stubbornly refuses to follow, turning to look back at Dean.

"Dean," he begs.

Dean's hand finds his cheek.

"I'm sorry," he breathes.

 

Castiel’s breath hitches. He prepares himself, for Dean to wink out of existence, for him to disappear, for his maddening habit of vanishing without a word.

But he doesn’t.

Dean drags him into his arms and kisses him, in front of God and everybody, and Castiel doesn’t resist. He wraps tight around Dean, losing himself in the heat of his body, until he disappears once again, Castiel stumbling a little as the warmth against him is replaced with nothing but air.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw  
> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

“Abaddon’s too quiet. I don’t like it.”

 

 

Gabriel jerks back, dropping the curse box he had been working on. He swears under his breath.

“Jesus, Sam,” he mutters. “Hello to you, too.”

 

He looks up at the angel. Charlie is standing behind Sam, her face drawn. Gabriel pushes up his reading glasses, rubbing his eyes.

“I take it Deano is still keeping his distance?”

Sam nods gravely. Gabriel pushes back from his desk, yelling towards the hall.

“Yo! Angelic candygram!”

 

 

Once Anna and Castiel are settled, Sam starts to bring them up to speed, explaining all that had happened in the past couple of days. It had been almost a week since…everything happened.

 

“She’s gone completely off the map. No trace of her, as far as we can tell.”

Sam paces slowly, his arms crossed.

“But there have been omens. Happening in cities all around the world—earthquakes, water turning into blood, mass animal death—“

“Shit, yeah,” Gabriel mutters, with a glance towards Anna and Castiel. “Hael called me about those. I didn’t know what to tell her.”

“This is Old Testament stuff,” Charlie says tersely. “Things we haven’t seen in centuries.”

“And we’re not exactly eager for a round two,” Sam says wryly.

 

Anna looks back and forth between the angels.

“So what can we do?”

Charlie shrugs.

“Not much we _can_ do. I’m going to try and sneak back into Heaven—see if I can’t figure out what’s going on.”

“Alastair’s MIA, too,” Sam adds. “It’s chaos. Everything's just…broken. Orders haven’t come from anyone in weeks. Most of the low levelers are floundering.”

“Nobody’s looking for me though,” Charlie says, standing. “Public enemies one and two gotta lay low, but I can probably slip in unnoticed. But that means you’re going to have to take care of things down here.”

Castiel clears his throat.

“Why isn’t Dean with you?”

 

Sam and Charlie exchange a look. She sighs.

“Said he didn’t want to come anywhere near this place. I told him the warding would hold tight, but…he’s stubborn. Says he doesn’t want to endanger you again.”

Castiel tightens his hands on his knees.

“Oh.”

 

 

Sam looks away.

“Speaking of warding.”

He walks over to the table, pulling a sheet of paper from thin air.

“Figured we’d give you a step by step guide to the ones on the cabin walls. In case you go anywhere else, you’ll need to put them up. And Charlie wants to add a couple extra ones to your bedrooms, just in case.”

 

Anna stands to help Charlie, and Gabriel listens intently as Sam explains, Castiel lost in thought behind them. The conversation shifts to Abaddon again, and Castiel looks up at the mention of her name. A strange chill runs through him.

 

“Something’s gotta be messing with her,” Sam muses, pen absently tracing over one of the sigils on the paper. “Slowing her down.”

Charlie glances over at him, taking the pot of paint Anna just handed her.

“Yeah?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” he replies. Otherwise we’d all be dust about now.”

Anna bites her lip.

“Shit.”

 

 

Sam is quiet.

“She’s been waiting long enough.”

 

 

 

Anna follows Charlie’s instructions, carefully running the brush over the old wooden walls, trying to memorize the complicated strokes. She’s suddenly aware that Charlie’s gaze is not fixed on the wall, but acutely focused on her.

Anna glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

Charlie furrows her brow, her eyes searching.

“You seem…different.”

Anna clears her throat, trying to joke.

“Uh. New haircut?”

Charlie is quiet.

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

 

 

“What are they whispering about?”

Castiel glances up. Gabriel is watching the two of them as they talk in low tones. Anna’s grip is tight on the paintbrush, the sigils forgotten.

“Listening in on others is considered rude,” Sam says airily, folding up the finished sheet of sigils.

“Excellent time for you to grow a conscience, bro,” Gabriel retorts.

Castiel musters up a laugh, but he glances back again over at his sister. He doesn’t know why, but there’s a strange anxiety rising inside him. The last thing they need right now is secrets.

 

He’s distracted when Sam sets them to work on more sigils, this time in each of their bedrooms. Castiel’s eyes are crossing by the time they finish, his hand cramped and stiff.

Sam and Charlie come to check them, and they nod approvingly. Castiel sets down the paint, heaving a sigh.

“Well, that’s it,” he says tiredly, turning around. “So, now—“

But the angels are gone.

 

He curses.

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel lifts a hand from the wheel, rubbing his forehead.

 

He wearily flicks through his list of options, all the possible avenues of research and information he had been obsessing over for the last fifty miles.

He rejects every single one. Especially…

No, Castiel thinks grimly, tightening his grip. Not unless he's desperate.

He's had enough dealings with demons to last him a lifetime.

 

He sighs, absently fiddling with the rosary around his wrist.

 

How do you stop an archangel?

 

 

The million-dollar question nowadays. It's the only thing Castiel feels like they can work on, after practically being put on radio silence. He's starting to get the feeling that something is coming, and that just running won't be enough anymore. They need an offensive.

 

He had driven all the way to British Columbia, to check out some omens that matched the kind Charlie had told him an archangel would leave after touching down—but it had turned out to be a bust. Castiel refused to let Anna come with him, and Gabriel snidely said he was just fine with sitting safely at home. Castiel is just glad Anna had agreed. She might argue, but she's safer with that warding around her.

Castiel is a little more expendable.

 

 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s been driving for almost 14 hours now, and the road is starting to blur in front of him, the dark silent trees pressing in.

Castiel sighs, and pulls off the highway, turning onto the dirt.

He clambers out of the driver’s seat, rubbing his eyes. He pops the trunk, grabbing the thin blanket he keeps for just these kinds of situations. He would’ve tried to find a crappy motel, but there hadn’t been anything for miles. So instead, he’s stuck with sleeping in the backseat. Not ideal, but Castiel’s done this more times than he can count. He almost feels like a teenager again.

He slides into the backseat, tugging the blanket around him. He curls up under the ratty material and closes his eyes, and he’s asleep in seconds.

 

 

When he wakes, it’s still dark. Looks like it had rained briefly while he was out, and the light of the moon shines through the rain-spattered glass, dotting the leather of the backseat with stars. Castiel smiles faintly, yawning. He shifts to his side and goes to readjust the pillow under his head, when he remembers he didn’t bring a pillow.

He frowns, looking up.

 

Dean is hanging over him, quietly staring.

 

 

Castiel bolts upright, almost banging his head.

“Jesus Christ—“

He whirls, seeing him bite back a smile.

“Not exactly,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel chokes on his laugh, pressing a hand to his head.

“Dean—“

He can’t even bring himself to tease Dean for stealing his joke, he just tries to breathe. 

“You—you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Dean apologizes quickly. “I—um. You just looked…uncomfortable.”

Castiel drops his hand.

“You were…watching me?”

Dean looks guilty.

“Sorry,” he says again.

“No, I mean, it’s—fine, I just…”

Castiel closes his eyes, calming his racing heart.

“You scared me,” he repeats, unable to think of anything else to say.

Dean looks down, embarrassed. He had pulled up his legs when Castiel bolted off him, and he’s biting his lip. Castiel sighs.

“Move.”

“What?”

 

Castiel pushes at Dean's knees and leans back down, settling his head in Dean’s lap.

“More comfortable then the seat, anyway,” he mumbles, curling the blanket around him. Dean is still for a moment, and Castiel holds his breath. But then Dean softens, one hand coming to settle on Castiel’s shoulder, the other on his head. Castiel relaxes, closing his eyes.

Dean’s fingers drag gently through his hair, combing patterns into his scalp. It feels nice.

“Miss you,” Castiel whispers.

 

Dean’s fingers pause.

 

 

“I miss you, too,” he answers, after a moment.

 

That hand comes down to Castiel's neck, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“It’s a nightmare, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “Heaven’s in chaos right now, but I look in on you whenever I can—“

He stops.

 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says quietly.

 

Castiel shifts.

“It’s okay.”

Dean rubs his shoulder, settling underneath him.

“You comfortable?” He asks softly. “I can get you an actual pillow, you know.”

“You’re better than a pillow.”

Dean doesn’t respond, but Castiel can feel his smile, even without seeing it. There’s a pause, then a soft click of fingers, and the radio sputters to life, playing softly. Despite the surprise of Dean’s appearance, Castiel feels the tiredness settling back into his mind, threatening to pull him under, the music almost like a lullaby.

 

_When I look into your eyes_

_I can see a love restrained_

_But darlin’ when I hold you_

_Don’t you know I feel the same_

 

Dean hums along quietly, and Castiel feels himself sinking again. They sit in silence for a while, just breathing each other in.

 

 

 

 

“What’s Heaven like?”

 

 

“Heaven?”

 

 

Dean is silent, thinking over the question.

“It’s different for everyone,” he says, after a moment. “But it’s always beautiful.”

His voice takes on a reverent tone, and it fills the backseat with a warm glow. Castiel shivers.

“In my Father’s house there are many rooms,” Dean recites softly. “If it were not so, would I have told you that I go, to prepare a place for you?”

Castiel knows the words. He’s heard them from the lips of his mother, his father, parishioners echoing comforts. But in Dean’s voice they become something else entirely, something altogether more…holy.

Sacred.

 

_‘Cause nothin’ lasts forever_

_And we both know hearts can change_

“But…” He trails off, suddenly sad. Castiel curls a hand around his knee.

“Angels don’t have souls. We don’t get our own Heaven.”

Dean drags a finger down the back of Castiel's neck, and Castiel buries his cheek into him, all the tension melting out of his body.

Dean continues.

“We can still visit, of course. Talked to John Bonham once.” He chuckles softly. “Cool guy.”

But Castiel’s heart is suddenly heavy.

 

_And it’s hard to hold a candle_

_In the cold November rain_

“So then…what happens if you…”

He closes his eyes, remembering Gordon’s terrified face.

“When an angel dies?” He whispers.

Dean’s hands pause.

“I’m not sure,” he admits, after a brief moment. “No one knows.” He laughs humorlessly. “Well, I suppose, except for God. But he’s not talking.”

Castiel curls in closer to him, hoping that the gesture reads as soothing. Dean hums and continues to caress his skin, his touch warm and feather-light.

 

“Will I go there when I die?”

 

 

Dean stills.

“What?”

 

Castiel swallows.

“When I die. I mean, I…I went to Hell before, and I’m not exactly the most innocent—“

“Hey.”

Dean pulls his head around, looking down at him.

“You only went to Hell because of the effects of the spell.” He doesn’t blink. “You’re a good person.”

Castiel is uncomfortable. Dean is being too honest, staring at him like that, and he can’t be telling the truth—because he isn’t. Castiel isn’t good. And he doesn’t deserve the gaze Dean is fixing on him. He doesn’t deserve Dean _._

“Besides, I can see your soul,” Dean says. “Pure blue.”

He runs gentle fingers down Castiel’s cheek.

“Straight up,” he murmurs.

 

_We’ve been through this such a long long time_

_Just tryin’ to kill the pain_

Castiel sits up.

“Really?”

Dean nods.

“Really.”

 

 

They just stare for a while, but Castiel can’t stand it any longer. He grabs Dean’s collar and pulls him in, their mouths meeting for the first time in what seems like years. They're always broken apart, separated, and a few desperate kisses spread out over months and months just isn’t enough.

“Cas—“ Dean rasps, but Castiel shuts him up, willing him to stop talking. He snarls up Dean’s hair in his hands, pulling at the brassy strands, feeling Dean's body shudder in response.

It almost scares Castiel, how much he wants Dean. He had expected it to lessen, to perhaps ease up a bit, but every time Castiel sees Dean now is almost torturous, because the second those eyes fall on him, Castiel's practically burning underneath his skin.

 

_I could rest my head_

_Just knowin’ that you were mine_

_All mine_

Dean kisses Castiel in earnest, one hand coming to his back, pulling him in. Castiel knows they shouldn’t do this, because Dean will have to leave, he always leaves, and it would make it that much worse. Castiel tries to restrain himself, but it’s so goddamn hard—

Dean doesn’t seem like he’s doing too well with the self-control either, because he presses Castiel back into the seat, almost in his lap as his hands slide up under Castiel's shirt, stealing hungry kisses. Castiel lets him, fingers tracing up, finding his sensitive sides, his chest—

He tips his head back, Dean’s breath fluttering against his neck. Castiel arches against the feel of lips against his pulse, silently urging him on.

 

But those hot hands leave his skin, and Castiel blinks open his eyes, confused.

“Dean?”

 

Dean’s voice is hard.

“Are you hurt?”

 

Castiel frowns. But then Dean is hesitantly reaching out, placing a hand on his chest. A nervous thrill runs through him.

“No.”

Castiel curls a hand around Dean’s wrist.

“Let me show you,” he murmurs.

 

He takes a deep breath, then starts to pull the t-shirt over his head. Dean is frozen, staring.

 

Castiel lets the shirt drop to the seat beside him, his fingers trembling.

“Dean?” He asks quietly.

 

Dean still doesn’t move. He’s staring at Castiel's chest in a mixture of revulsion and fear and lust and Castiel doesn’t know what to think.

“I—“

Dean finally breaks out of his haze, touching the edge of the red mark. Castiel shivers.

“Did I—“

Dean swallows.

“I did this to you,” he whispers quietly.

Castiel nods, shifting forward.

“Yeah,” he breathes, curling a hand around Dean's neck.

“Cas—“

His breath hitches.

“Shit, I’m sorry—“

 

Dean presses his hands to his eyes, trying to pull away.

“I had no idea, I didn’t know that would happen, fuck—“

Castiel stops him, gently taking Dean's hands in his.

“Dean.”

Dean stills against him, chest heaving. Castiel breathes in deep, working up the courage.

“I love it.”

Dean mouth parts silently, his eyes wide. Castiel sees his fear, his silence, and pulls him in close, leaning his forehead against Dean’s.

“It shows the world I’m yours,” he whispers. “I’m all yours.”

Dean melts.

“ _Cas._ ”           

 

He kisses him hard, holding nothing back.

 

_So if you want to love me_

_Then darlin’ don’t refrain_

Dean presses harder on top of him, and Castiel arches, letting Dean push him up against the window. The sharp edge of the door handle digs into Castiel’s back, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Jesus, Cas. You don’t know…”

Dean traces his fingers over his chest, brushing the mark again. Castiel shivers when Dean presses his lips there, soothing the inflamed redness. Dean's hands move over his skin, warm and wide, and Castiel gently rolls against him, silently inviting Dean to lick his way up his throat, his jaw, and beyond.

But he doesn’t.

 

Dean stops, forehead pressed against Castiel's chest, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry, Cas, I—“

He shakes his head, glancing up.

“I—“

Another deep breath.

“I wish I could stay with you,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

Castiel pulls Dean up, one hand finding his cheek.

“Then stay.”

 

Castiel can’t help himself. He needs this. He needs Dean.

He brushes a thumb over his lips.

“Stay,” he murmurs. “Please.”

Castiel knows it’s completely unfair, how his voice breaks on the plea, and how it kills Dean to refuse him.

But of course he refuses him. Castiel can always feel it in his kiss, feel it as Dean slows, preparing to pull away.

 

Dean holds his gaze for a second, then drops his eyes, shaking his head.

“I can’t, Cas.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

 

Castiel swallows his crushing disappointment, but nods, resigning himself.

 

 

Dean watches him anxiously as he helps Castiel back into his shirt, stroking down his arms and finally, pressing a gentle kiss to Castiel’s forehead.

 

_I know that you can love me_

_When there’s no one left to blame_

“I wish I could,” he says softly, tucking an errant strand of dark hair behind Castiel’s ear.

Dean’s hands find his.

“I wish you could, too,” Castiel murmurs.

They’re silent for a moment.

 

 

“It’s been too long already,” Dean says quietly. “It’s not safe.”

Dean squeezes his hand, and Castiel is filled with warmth, his tiredness falling away. He feels like he just woke up from a full day of rest. It’s better than he’s felt in a long while.

“You should probably get out of here,” Dean murmurs. He doesn’t let go of Castiel's  hand.

“Yeah,” Castiel whispers back. He looks down, and something in him chokes up as he looks at their fingers, all tangled and intertwined against the leather of the backseat.

 

 

“I’m sorry it has to be like this.”

Castiel looks up. Dean’s eyes are worried.

 

_So never mind the darkness_

_We still can find a way_

“It’s okay.” Castiel leans in. “I understand.”

Dean brings him into his arms, and they just hold each other for a moment, soft and silent as they soak each other up, trying to drink their fill.

Dean noses into the skin of his neck, and Castiel smiles faintly, closing his eyes.

 

 

They’re quiet for a moment before Castiel remembers, and he sits up abruptly, tugging at his hand.

“Wait,” he mumbles, fumbling for the door handle. “I have something—“

Castiel slides out of the car and pulls out his keys, Dean moving silently behind him. Castiel opens the trunk, digging around until he finds what he’s looking for.

He hesitates briefly, then straightens and turns, handing it out to him.

Dean wordlessly extends his hands, folding the dirty leather jacket into his arms.

 

 

 

“Thank you,” he says softly.

 

Castiel tries to make his voice light.

“Just…never wear a suit again.”

Dean smiles, but it’s slightly hollow. His guilt over hurting Castiel when he was under Heaven’s control hangs heavy between them, unspoken. Castiel swallows.

He takes Dean's hand and squeezes it gently, trying to tell him without words that it’s okay. Dean finally meets his eyes, and Castiel is lost, just staring.

 

Dean dips forward, searing against him—one more hot kiss that leaves Castiel breathless.

He almost doesn’t let Dean escape his arms.

“Bye, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

He reaches up to touch Castiel's cheek, smiling fondly.

Then he’s gone, the air suddenly empty and lonely. Castiel shivers.

 

 

“Goodbye, Dean,” he whispers.

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel stares at the wall.

This is a bad idea.

This is a very bad idea.

 

But he does it anyway. He picks up the rag and starts scrubbing.

Castiel works quickly, rubbing out the dried blood on the wall, then the paint that they splashed up there what seems like ages ago. He isn’t stupid enough to take down the rest of the sigils that protect the cabin, but he figures his room is enough. They won’t be able to tell _where_ he is, but they'll be able to see that Castiel is there, and they can appear inside the room.

In theory.

Castiel finishes with the final sigil, and he steps back, the walls streaked with cleaner and traces of red. He lets the rag drop from his shaking fingers. It makes no noise as it pools on the floor.

The room remains silent and empty, except for his breath, picking up as the seconds drag by.

 

Nothing happens.

 

Castiel turns slowly on the spot. He isn’t really sure what he expected. Perhaps a dramatic entrance, for Dean to sweep in as soon as the last trace of protection was gone, or maybe Castiel would turn and see those eyes staring back, filled with warmth. But there's nothing.

Castiel clenches his hands. He can’t help but feel irritated. This is the only thing that's keeping them apart. Okay, this—and the hordes of angry angels desperate for Dean's location. And maybe the apocalypse.

But dammit. He should be here.

 

Castiel ends up staying up for another three hours, mindlessly flipping through the books on his shelf. He doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, the paperback tumbling from his fingers.

 

When he wakes up, his cheek is hanging halfway over the edge of the bed, and the first thing he sees is the book. Which apparently he managed to drop face down, and now the pages are all bent over backward.

“Ah, hell,” Castiel grumbles, reaching to pick it up.

 

He shuffles himself onto his elbows and grabs it, a pair of shiny black boots coming into focus.

 

Castiel scrambles back, clutching the book to him, as if that could provide some measure of protection.

A raven-haired woman is staring at him from the middle of the room, her arms tightly crossed.

She raises an eyebrow.

 

“ _This_ is the ever-elusive Castiel?” She taps her foot. “Be still my beating heart.”

 

Castiel cautiously sets the book down, his heart pounding.

“Who are you?” He demands.

 

Her eyes narrow.

“You don’t get to ask questions. That’s my job.”

Castiel swallows. She steps forward, casually glancing around the room.

“Where’s your sister?”

 

Castiel curls his lip.

“What? Lost her, have you?”

The woman plants her hands on her hips, staring him down.

“You two are hard to find.”

She looks around at the walls, raising an eyebrow.

“And yet you took down the warding against us. Interesting.”

She crosses her arms again, glancing towards him.

“Could it be that you’re hoping a certain rogue angel will show up?” She asks, smirking.

Castiel glares at her.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

She paces slowly around the room, taking everything in. She stops, her voice cold.

“Or maybe he’s already been here. Maybe you know _exactly_ where he is.”

She turns, staring him down.

“So. Here’s the deal. I want to know what you know.”

She steps closer, a poisonous smile on her face.

“And as long as you cooperate, I won’t kill you,” she says. “Simple.”

In spite of his fear, Castiel sneers.

“Big words.”

Her eyes flash. Castiel snorts.

“You can’t kill me and you know it. You need Anna for your little apocalypse, and she won’t do a thing you say if you lay a finger on me.”

The woman hisses through her teeth.

“Maybe the orders have changed.”

Castiel laughs.

“Or maybe you’re alone, and desperate, and trying to scare me into something with a hollow bluff.”

Her lips curl.

“Hollow?”

 

She raises a hand and dramatically thrusts it forward, but nothing happens. Castiel stands in tense silence as she frowns, looking down at her palm. A slow grin creeps across his face as she continues to flex her fingers in confusion.

“What’s the matter?” Castiel asks. “Can’t get it up?”

She glares at him.

“What did you do?”

He shrugs.

“Just a couple precautionary measures. But looks like you can’t do a thing to persuade me.”

The woman stares at him for a second, then her lips curve into a nasty smile.

“Gutsy.” She lets out a tinkling laugh. “If you weren’t such an irritating thorn in our side, I might actually like you.”

 

Castiel relaxes slightly as she turns away, inspecting the rest of the room.

He was right. The angels were running on empty. They were desperate.

“You’re never going to find him.”

She throws him a sharp look.

“We’ll see about that.” She flips her dark hair. “We might have a strict hands-off policy, but that doesn’t mean we can’t convince you in other ways.”

She strides up to him, snaking her arms around his waist. He tries to back away, but her grip is tight.

“What do you say?” She whispers, her breath curling against his lips.

“Get off me,” he hisses, pulling out his angel blade. She snarls, jerking back and disappearing in a flash.

He falls against the wall, taking a deep breath.

This had been a very bad idea.

 

x

 

He doesn’t tell Anna, seeing as she would most likely bite his head off and force him to put the sigils back up. They go out on cases as usual, and when they finally get back from ganking a wraith nearly a week later, there’s another one waiting in his bedroom.

He’s short, and Castiel straightens up a bit when he sees him. He might be an angel, but at least Castiel had the height advantage.

“Who are you?” He demands, even though it didn’t go over so well with the last one. But the kid just smiles, his face sunny and eager. Castiel almost wants to like him.

“My name is Kevin,” he says brightly. “I’m pleased to meet you, Castiel.”

Castiel sloughs his pack off his shoulder onto the bed.

“Well, that makes one of us.”

 

He gives him the quick once-over, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“Kevin, huh? Odd name for an angel.”

 

The boy frowns slightly.

“Well…my true name has over 23 syllables in your language.”

He doesn’t continue, and Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“Fascinating,” he prompts.

The angel shrugs.

“So, I guess, in English, the rough translation approximates to…Kevin.”

Castiel sniffs, scratching his cheek. The guy might be a warrior of God, but he looks like he’s barely seventeen.

Kevin’s smile falters a little at Castiel’s silence.

“Please, Castiel. I hope that we can be friends. I don’t know what Meg said to you, but—“

“Oh, Meg, is it?” Castiel stands and starts unpacking his bag, showing off as he checks the barrels of his shotgun. The kid’s eyes bug out as Castiel draws a seemingly never-ending supply of weapons from his pack, which include several anti-angel components. “She didn’t seem too keen to share that information last week.”

Kevin swallows.

“I am sorry. Meg has always been a bit of a…wild card, shall we say. That’s why they sent me this time. Top of my class.”

Castiel pauses, turning around briefly.

“They have classes in Heaven?”

Kevin tilts his head.

“I was…speaking metaphorically.”

Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Right.”

 

He sits, and starts to yank at his boots.

“Well. I’m sorry to have wasted your time, _Kevin_.” He chucks the boot past the angel’s head, making him flinch. “But I’m not telling you where he is. Don’t even know. So you can stop asking.”

Kevin frowns.

“Castiel—“

“Hell, even if I did know I wouldn’t tell you. And you’re not touching my sister either. But you already know that by now. So why do they keep sending you jackasses?”

The angel plants his hands on his hips—he’s pouting, for God’s sake—

“I really wish you would reconsider. Lilith is not the only leader in Heaven. There are others, others who believe we can convince you, in better ways, really—“

Castiel starts getting irritated. This had been a _really_ bad idea.

“Look, you’re starting to piss me off.”

He stands.

“So I’m going to draw a banishing sigil and blow you back to Bible Camp. Or you can be gone when I turn around.”

Castiel pretends to busy himself with his knife until he hears the sound of wings. He smirks, turning back to see an empty room. Hmmph. At least his threats were starting to work.

 

It happened almost every night that week. An angel would pop in, sometimes two, and they would all try and get Castiel to tell them where Dean was, or to convince him that having Anna say yes was actually a good thing. Some threatened him, some pleaded, some just looked bored. He didn’t see Kevin again, but Meg showed up again one night, batting her eyes as she slunk around his room, swiveling her hips. He had difficulty trying to refrain from rolling his eyes.

It tapered off after a while. Soon it was only twice a week, then maybe a couple times a month.

 

It had been sixty-two days since his last angel visit when the air is filled with another rush of wings. Castiel doesn’t even bother to look up from his book.

He sighs.

“Still not talking to you feathered freaks.”

“You goddamn idiot.”

 

 

Castiel snaps his head up.

 

“You stupid, fucking, idiot—“

He’s not looking at him. He’s drawing sigils on the wall, a vein already open and dripping.

“You shouldn’t have taken down the warding,” he snarls, working at the red lines.

Castiel slowly gets up from the bed. He thinks if he makes one wrong move he’ll disappear, that he’ll wink out of his life again, and Castiel isn’t sure he’d be able to handle that.

He steps closer until he’s by his side, looking at his beautiful face. It’s still angry, scrunched in concentration as he works on the sigil. He flexes his arm, but there’s only a thin trickle, where the skin has already started to heal. He snarls out a frustrated breath.

“I need blood,” he snaps.

Castiel wordlessly extends his arm. He grabs his wrist, slicing down his arm in a quick move. Castiel sucks in a breath as the pain stings through him, clenching his fist.

 

Dean’s eyes flick up and catch Castiel’s own, and they’re motionless for a second. But then he turns back to the sigil, daubing the blood on the wall, his hand still locked tight around his arm. Castiel’s whole body is burning.

 

 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Dean says again.

Castiel swallows.

“I had to see you.”

“It was dangerous.”

“I don’t care.”

 

Dean finishes the sigil, glaring at him. He yanks him closer, smoothing a hand down his arm, the cut healing instantly. Castiel doesn’t try to hide his shiver.

Dean’s gaze falls on the slightly healed scabs just visible beneath the sleeve of Castiel's shirt, and his eyes narrow.

“What is that?”

He doesn’t let go of his arm.

Castiel grabs his sleeve, trying to pull it down over the marks.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Dean steps closer.

“Take off your shirt,” he orders, his voice carefully controlled.

 

Castiel doesn’t think for a moment about disobeying. He holds his breath, pulling the thin shirt over his head. He drops it to the floor with shaking fingers.

It’s hardly anything, a wound he got on a hunt a while back. He had taken off the bandages earlier that week, and it's scabbing over nicely. The most annoying part is the bruises. They throb sometimes, reminding Castiel of his stupidity, of his recklessness.

 

Dean circles around him, taking in the sight of Castiel's battered back. He’s completely silent.

Castiel feels the burn again, searing underneath his skin. He can’t see Dean, only hear his breath as he nears him, and Castiel swallows, trying to stop his trembling.

A cool hand presses against his back, and Castiel can’t help the small gasp that escapes him. Icy heat shoots through his body, the pain disappearing instantly. He sinks a little, his eyelids drooping. He knows his skin is whole, but he doesn’t bother to look.

 

Dean doesn’t remove his hand.

“You stupid bastard,” he whispers, and Castiel sucks in a breath. He didn’t know Dean was so close, but now—now Castiel can feel him, heat radiating over naked skin. Dean’s so close, so infuriatingly close—but the only touch is those soft fingertips, now tracing down Castiel’s spine.

Thumb, forefinger, dipping over the ridges of his backbone and dropping away. The loss tears a half-formed whimper from Castiel’s mouth, and he’s on the verge of turning around, when—

Dean’s burning lips press against the back of his neck, and Castiel nearly collapses right there.

 

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” Dean murmurs, tracing kisses up to the soft place behind his ear.

Castiel’s legs are jelly, he can’t feel his bones anymore. He tilts his head to the side to give Dean better access, eyes half closed. He tries to speak, to formulate some sort of reply, but his tongue refuses to cooperate.

Those fingers have found his waist, playing with the edge of his jeans, dipping inside the fabric and dragging up his hipbone. Dean brings his other arm around him, and oh god—they’re finally touching—Dean’s hand coming to rest on Castiel's stomach, nosing into his neck. Castiel finds Dean's hand with his own, leaning back, unable to stop the soft sounds now escaping him as Dean moves his lips across Castiel's skin, down to his shoulder and back again.

“An angel…could have gotten…in…”

It doesn’t sound like words are coming too easy to him either; Dean trembles as he wraps both arms around Castiel, pulling him in tighter.

 

Castiel wills himself to speak.

“I wanted one to.”

 

Dean lets out a soft laugh, but then he’s still, resting a cheek again Castiel’s back. His hand strokes reverently down his side, all the way from shoulder to hip, like he can’t even believe Castiel is in front of him. Castiel hums softly, closing his eyes. His fingers brush over Dean’s arm, tracing the golden lines in his skin.

But then it’s as if Dean can’t stand it anymore, and he pulls Castiel around, arms slipping down to his waist.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Dean whispers against his lips. Castiel nods for some reason, probably because he's right, he really shouldn’t—

But Castiel’s mind is screaming no, pleading silently with Dean to stay as they curve into each other, lips hovering, just barely skimming over skin.

 

Castiel runs his hands up Dean’s back, wanting to pull him in closer. If he would just kiss him already—

“Cas…” Dean warns, and Castiel huffs impatiently.

“You’re an idiot,” he mutters, closing his eyes. Dean laughs softly, leaning forward to touch Castiel’s forehead with his own. Dean's hand drifts slowly over Castiel's chest, brushing over the edges of the red scar. Castiel shivers.

As Dean holds him, something in Castiel is building. Because Dean is here, in his room, and Castiel’s not letting this get away from him. Not this time.

So he just does it. Castiel’s hands find Dean's face and he kisses him, pressing their lips together with a sudden fierceness—and for all his hesitant words before, Dean doesn’t hold back now. He lets out a soft noise and falls into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Castiel. He moves gently, opening up under Castiel’s touch, but not letting him take control—never pushing too hard, never too fast. If anything, it’s infuriating—always pulling back just when Castiel wants more.

 

“I should—I should go,” Dean says breathlessly as he breaks away for what seems like the millionth time. But still, he doesn’t leave, letting Castiel pull him in by the front of his shirt.

He stills, breathing hard. Dean is watching him, his lips slightly parted, his gaze dark.

There’s a heavy, hot scent in the air—lightning and that bursting sort of spark that Castiel always tastes on his tongue when Dean touches him, and it fills him with a strange kind of daring. He had been timid before, not sure what to do, but this heat between them melts the last of Castiel’s doubts away. He slides his hand to Dean’s neck, gently pulling him down to meet his mouth again. He deepens the kiss, tugging at Dean's bottom lip with teeth, feverishly tasting every inch of him, delighting in the shudder of Dean’s body in response.

Castiel kisses the corner of his mouth.

“You should—“

He bites at his jaw—

“Definitely—“

His hands brush over his chest—

“Go—“

Dean lifts Castiel so quickly his head spins—pushing him back up against the wall and finding his lips again, kissing him breathless. Castiel groans, one hand curling into Dean's hair.

 

Dean touches Castiel everywhere, his legs, his arms—sliding over the skin of his back, slick with a fine sheen of sweat as Dean breathes hard against him, turning the kiss into something darker—a desperate need to taste each other, to do everything, more, _more_ , before they're yanked apart again, by fate, by angels—by who knows what.

 

Dean tears himself away long enough just to say two words.

“Fuck it,” he growls.

 

 

Castiel’s heart leaps. Dean's going to stay, he's going to _stay._

He lets out a contented sound and slides his hand down, grasping at Dean’s thigh—

But Dean stops him, seizing his wrist.

 

“Cas—you don’t—“

He swallows, shaking.

“We don’t have to—“

Castiel pulls back, confused. Dean looks almost frightened, eyes blown wide, but his whole body is straining towards him.

Does he—does Dean think he doesn’t want this?

“Dean.”

 

Castiel gently takes his face in his hands, dropping his voice low.

“I want to. I want you to.”

Dean shivers, closing his eyes.

“Please,” Castiel whispers, his voice breaking on the sound.

 

They’re frozen for a heartbeat, an eternity—but then Castiel feels Dean nodding, his arms wrapping around him—and they’re moving backward. Castiel’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and they tumble down.

 

Dean pushes Castiel down onto the sheets and climbs on top of him—but abruptly stops, seemingly at a loss for what to do next. Castiel props himself up on his elbow, cupping Dean's cheek. He kisses him for a moment, soft and slow until Dean relaxes, melting into him. Castiel gently takes his hand, guiding it down.

Dean quickly gets with the program, fingers fumbling for Castiel’s zipper, and he strips off his jeans, throwing them somewhere to the side. Dean shucks off his own worn green overshirt, and Castiel sits up, unwilling to stop kissing him for even a second. He tugs at Dean’s shirt, and Dean raises his arms, letting Castiel pull it off him. Dean’s arms come to settle around his neck and Castiel pulls him close, heat spiking through him as they finally feel skin against skin.

Dean tugs slightly at his hair, panting.

“Cas,” he breathes. “Cas.”

 

Castiel breaks away from Dean's lips, mouthing down the side of his neck and licking his way down his chest, gently skimming over the sigils set in his skin. Castiel finds the front of Dean’s pants, and he starts tugging at his belt buckle, clumsy in his hurry.

“Cas—“ Dean chokes out, something between a warning and a plea for more.

“It’s okay,” Castiel mumbles, ripping the belt out. “I want to,” he murmurs, curling a hand around Dean's thigh. He looks up, finding those eyes.

“I want you,” he whispers. Dean stares back, chest heaving. And slowly, he nods.

 

Castiel swallows, reaching up to grab the hem of Dean's jeans. He drags them down slowly, almost reverently, until Dean can step out of them, impatiently kicking them aside. Castiel pulls him back close, one hand coming to rest on the small of Dean's back, and he presses a tentative kiss his hipbone, nosing at the skin there.

“Cas,” Dean breathes. He touches him slowly, sliding over his shoulders, dragging up his cheek, before his fingers softly thread into Castiel’s hair. Castiel smiles, one hand coming to Dean's waist, steadying him, bringing the other to wrap around his cock.

 

Dean inhales sharply. Castiel glances up. He's staring down at him, green eyes dark.

Castiel doesn’t break the gaze, starting off with a few slow strokes. Dean’s hand finds his jaw, slowly dragging up the curve of his cheek, with a touch so tender Castiel forgets everything else.

Dean nearly folds over when Castiel starts using his mouth.

Castiel shifts, and slides his hands down the back of Dean’s thighs, starting slow. The nervousness has burned away, and he gets bolder, kissing the head of his cock, little kisses and licks before Castiel takes Dean deeper, the scent and taste of him heavy on his tongue. Dean strokes through his hair, panting hard. He’s broken, an endless litany of soft gasps and Castiel’s name falling from his lips.

Castiel returns to stroking him with his hand, watching Dean breathlessly. Before he can lose his nerve, Castiel slips forward, gently scraping his teeth up the underside of his cock. Dean shudders, the hand in his hair tightening, panting harshly.

“Cas, _fuck_.”

He lasts for a few moments more, but finally he snaps—seizing Castiel’s hair and pulling his head back.

 

“Kiss me,” Dean says breathlessly, and Castiel obliges, bending up to him. They meet in the middle, and Dean crushes him to his chest.

“Want you—want to taste you—“

Dean finds his mouth again, his breath hard and strained between their lips. Castiel loses himself in the kiss, and he thinks he becomes something else entirely. He’s just raw nerves and aching need, any semblance of control lost. Castiel arches, barely conscious of the sounds he’s making, how his body’s reacting—he moans, and Dean has Castiel pinned on his back in a heartbeat.

Castiel sucks in a breath, staring up at him.

There’s a dangerous sort of hunger burning in Dean's eyes—raw and possessive, and Castiel is almost terrified, to have all that power concentrated on him. Dean quickly straddles him, rocking up into another hard kiss, and Castiel clutches at his shoulders, his arms, instinctively grinding up against him. Dean _growls_ and his hands flash—the rest of their clothes gone, winked out existence or who the hell knows—but now there’s nothing separating them as Dean grabs Castiel's leg and hikes it up, pressing their hips flush. Castiel inhales sharply, throwing his head back.

“ _Dean_ —oh, shit—”

Dean is murmuring something, something like _yes_ or _Cas_ or some other mumbled words that Castiel can’t focus on, because a fire is consuming him, raging through his body and burning in his blood. Dean breathes hard against his neck, teeth gently scraping at skin, and Castiel feels almost drunk, reeling when Dean dizzies him with another heady kiss.

His hand fumbles, slipping from Castiel’s thigh to move between them, finally grabbing them both.

Castiel can’t control himself. His hips buck up at the touch, a whimper escaping his lips.

But Dean has him—cradling him in his arms even as he rips him apart.

 

“Cas—“

Dean’s babbling now, words just spilling out of him.  
“You don’t know—fuck—you can’t know—“

Castiel just clutches him tighter, nodding stupidly, answering him with soft moans.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you,” Dean mumbles. “Centuries to find someone just like you,” he gasps, pressing a hot open-mouthed kiss to Castiel's collarbone.

Through the haze of pleasure, Castiel rankles, huffing out an indignant breath.

“No fair,” he manages to choke out before Dean claims his mouth again. They break apart a minute later, and Castiel struggles to remember words.

“You can’t do that—“ He gasps. “You can’t say perfect crap like that, I can’t—“

Dean squeezes the hand wrapped around the both of them and Castiel breaks off with a cry, his whole body thrumming.

“You’re everything.”

 

Dean sinks down until their eyes meet.

“You’ve always been everything,” he whispers.

 

“Please.”

 

 

The word rips out of Castiel’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“Dean, please.”

He’s not really sure what he’s asking for. For more, for less—or for Dean to whisper sweet words of worship and devotion in his ear until his whole body seizes.

But Dean must know, because he flips him over, and Castiel sucks in a breath at the sudden change, the coolness of the sheets briefly soothing the heat on his skin. Dean runs a hand down his back, starting at the top of his spine, tracing along the edge of his tattoo, before starting to move down. Castiel can only hear Dean's breath, and how it picks up as his hands drift lower and lower. Castiel curls his hands into the sheets beneath him, arching slightly.

 

Castiel closes his eyes, he’s floating. He’s hyperaware of Dean’s touch as his hands skim down and over the back of Castiel's thighs, spreading his legs. He holds his breath, but when Dean touches him, slides slick fingers inside, all the tension sluices out—he sighs, his body loosening as Dean presses in deeper, kissing his back.

Maybe it’s the delirium Castiel’s slipping into, maybe it’s the heat of sex clouding his brain—but he imagines Dean splitting himself, roaming all over his body. Some angelic part of him that gave him the ability to touch Castiel everywhere, a hand locked tight around his ankle, another palming up his leg as the fingers inside slowly tease him, sliding and stretching.

Part of Castiel wants to look, to turn around and see how it's possible, how he can feel Dean stroking his hair, his hands, moving down his back and neck and arms all at once. But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to break the spell. Castiel doesn’t ever want this to end.

“Jesus, Cas… you don’t know…”

Dean's voice washes over him, and Castiel sinks into it, feeling like he’s going to break with every passing second.

“Everything,” Dean breathes, laying a soft hand against his hip.

Sparks burn through him as Dean hits him deep, and Castiel shoots up, gasping.

“Dean—“

But Dean’s there, kissing his shoulder, calming him as Castiel pants into the sheets.

“D-Dean,” he manages to say again. “ _Please_.”

They’re still for a second—a heartbeat—but finally Dean coats Castiel’s body with his own, burrowing his face into his neck.

“Okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel's burning skin. “I got you. I got you.”

 

Castiel rolls over and Dean brings a hand to his cheek, kissing him softly before he pushes up Castiel's thigh with his other hand, pulling their hips flush. Castiel tries to relax, tries to slow the pounding of his heart as Dean drops to his elbows, their faces inches apart. He shifts forward, one arm curling possessively around Castiel, staring into his eyes.

“I got you,” Dean whispers again. Castiel licks his lips, his throat dry.

 

But Dean is motionless. Those eyes are wide and dark, his mouth slightly parted, flushed and skin shining dully in the dim light of Castiel's room. His hands are trembling.

So Castiel reaches up, clutching the back of Dean's neck, fingers curling into the sweaty hair at his nape. Castiel tightens his grip, and slowly, he nods.

Dean takes a deep breath. He takes himself in hand and slowly pushes inside him.

 

 

He barely moves at first. Both of them are breathless, so hesitant, so careful. Castiel grabs his arm as Dean starts to shallowly rock in and out, a slow rhythm that turns from new to good, to  _really_ good, and Castiel lets out a soft gasp, dropping his head back.

“Oh,” he breathes.

 

Castiel fumbles, desperately gripping at the sheets beneath him. Dean slips his other hand under Castiel, fingers trailing over his skin.

“Cas,” he sighs into his ear. “Cas.”

Dean’s warmth is soft and weightless on top of him, and they move slowly together, rolling on the thin sheets of his tiny bed—and Castiel feels like he could die. They’re a mess, a tangle of legs and heat and sweat. There isn’t an inch of them that isn’t touching, Dean’s hot skin sliding perfectly against his, his lips at his neck. Castiel wants to melt into him, wants Dean to hold him forever, he wants everything, just like this.

Castiel gently arches up against him, clutching at Dean’s wrist, and Dean’s breath hitches—he braces himself against the bed and rocks into him again, murmuring nonsense into his ear.

Castiel turns his head slightly, and Dean noses against him, their lips just short of touching as he slips their fingers together, clutching his hand tight.

He cradles Castiel’s face, gaze locked on his. There’s a sweet desperation in Dean's eyes, like he can’t believe this is real, that Castiel is real.

 

Time phases out of his awareness. There's only Dean. Castiel clutches at his arms, his shoulders, his head—Dean’s soft hair beneath his hand, all twisted up in his fingers. Castiel presses back against the bed beneath him, letting out a soft sound every time Dean rocks his hips forward, lighting him up from the inside out, sending fire through his veins.

 

Dean presses Castiel's arms up, pinning them above his head as he thrusts in again, cursing under his breath. He was being gentle before, but now—it seems like Dean’s losing a little bit of control. His kisses have turned biting and hard, half a wild thing, hands gentle on Castiel's skin but his movements becoming rougher, head tucked into his neck, breath coming out in pants, laced with Castiel’s name.

Another shot of pleasure races through him, and Castiel's composure snaps.

“Dean—“

He breaks the loose grip on his wrists and starts to sit up, pushing at Dean's shoulders.

“Back,” Castiel pants.

 

Dean sits back, breathless, his eyes and hair wild.

Castiel flips over, hands flat on the bed as he curves towards him, pushing his hips back. Dean growls and is on him again in an instant—rutting against Castiel a few times before sliding back in, his hands bruisingly tight on his hips. Castiel groans, arching as Dean’s teeth scrape the back of his neck. Dean's hand drops to Castiel’s cock and he starts stroking it in time with his thrusts, and Castiel gasps, dipping his head.

 

His room had been dark before, but now Castiel sees it—silver light, jumping blue streaks searing around the edges of his vision as they heat up, as they burn hotter. And Dean is panting in his ear—his words gone—there’s only feeling now. The tickle of his hair against Castiel’s neck, the sharp prick of Dean's fingernails digging into his skin, and that fire pooling low in his belly.

Castiel feels sparks under his skin, too much, all too much, pushing him towards the edge of a cliff—and he isn’t sure what lies beyond it.

“De—Dean…I’m going to—oh, _fuck_ —“

He hunches over, shaking as he struggles against the feeling, wanting to make it last.

 

The heat of Dean’s body leaves him, and Castiel snarls in a moment of confusion and irritation—

But then Dean has him, pulling Castiel up and around into his lap.

“Wanna see—“

Dean effortlessly slips inside Castiel again, and they both groan, nearly collapsing back on the bed. But Dean steadies himself, hiking Castiel up in his arms.

“Wanna see you—Cas—”

Castiel clutches him to his chest, shaking. Dean pants against his collarbone.

“Please—“

Dean seizes the back of his head, dragging Castiel’s face down to meet his.

“Cas,” he gasps. “Look at me—”

Castiel fumbles, hands finding Dean’s cheeks. He can’t, he can’t open his eyes, because if he does, if he does—he’s not sure he’s going to make it.

 

He wants to stay here forever, right on the edge, right here with Dean. He doesn’t want him to leave, he doesn’t want him to be hunted—they should just stay, why can’t they stay here—

“Dean—I—“

Castiel shivers, gasping silently against his mouth.

“I—I can’t—“

Dean slows. Castiel clasps his hands around the back of his neck, shaking his head.

“Come on, Cas—baby—come on.”

Dean’s voice breaks on his name.

“Cas—“

He brushes a soft thumb over Castiel's cheek, voice dropping low.

“Please.”

Castiel shudders, taking a deep breath.

He opens his eyes.

 

Dean.

 

He’s all Castiel can see. Those beautiful eyes staring into him, into his very soul.

Oh, those eyes.

But they’re no longer the soft green that have haunted Castiel’s nights—they’re shining in a rainbow of silver and gold, and as Dean rocks up against him, hands slipping over his back, Castiel thinks he sees Dean, really _sees_ him _._

Terrible and vast, soaked in fire. A cavernous expanse of energy, filled with longing and light, desire and beauty—a thousand beasts’ heads on a body of vaporous power—all screaming his name.

Castiel gasps, seizing—he cries out, the vision disappearing as he closes his eyes, falling back against the pillows. A shock rips through him, searing white hot in his veins as Dean follows him, the air around them exploding with light.

 

They sink, collapsing in a heap of arms and legs. Castiel sees the brief flicker of wings, exposed and stretched above his head. Then they’re gone, only a faint echo of a shadow in their place. The room dims as they try to get closer, whimpering and struggling to put each other back together.

 

 

 

Castiel is lost. He feels loose and light, Dean trembling against him as he catches his breath, face tucked into his neck.

Castiel breathes, and wills his muscles to work, wrapping his arms around his angel. He cranes his neck up to kiss him, when he sees something.

 

“Dean.” Castiel murmurs, fingers fumbling, scraping over his back. Dean just nestles into him, purring in pleasure.

“Dean,” he says a little more forcefully, poking him.

“Hmm?”

Castiel is remarkably calm.

 

“The bed’s on fire.”

 

 

Dean bolts upright.

“What—“

The foot of the bed is alight with deep blue flames, burning slowly across the scrunched sheets, turning them a soft solid grey. Castiel isn’t scared, the flames don’t hurt—they’re just kind of…there, lighting up the room, which he can see now, and shit—

It looks like a hurricane blew through. Castiel’s books are everywhere, some of the shelves have fallen from the walls, and the flames are pretty much everywhere, bathing them in soft light.

Dean waves a hand and the room is as good as new—no more fire, Castiel’s singed sheets made whole once again, but Castiel can’t help it. He starts to laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth. Dean throws him a glare.

“What?” Dean growls, but his eyes are dancing.

Castiel doesn’t respond, just grins. Dean falls back on top of him, kissing his laughter away. Their lips part after what seems an eternity later, and Castiel curls his fingers around Dean's neck, laughing a little.

“Does that always happen?” He asks, genuinely curious.

Dean doesn’t answer immediately, and Castiel wants to kick himself. He shouldn’t have asked that, shit—

“I’m sorry, Dean…you don’t—“

Dean cuts Castiel off with a shake of his head, but he still hesitates.

“I, um. I…don’t know,” he admits finally. Castiel swallows, realizing.

“Oh.”

He props himself up on his elbow, trying to meet Dean's eyes.

“Well.” Castiel reaches out to touch his cheek. “Me neither.”

 

Dean looks back up at him, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Well.” He echoes. “Okay then.”

Castiel sinks back down, curling up on his side, facing Dean. He finds his fingers, lazily linking their hands together.

“You seemed to know what you were doing,” he teases. Dean smiles, his eyes wicked.

“Well,” he says, smirking. “I am your _sister’s_ guardian—“

 

“Oh—“

 

Castiel punches him on the shoulder.

“Jesus. Really?”

Dean is laughing.

“Ought to break your neck just for saying that,” Castiel mutters grumpily, rolling over. Dean snakes up against his back, mouthing into his skin.

“I love it when you get all protective.”

Castiel huffs, but relents, turning to meet the kiss. He brushes Dean's cheek and lays back, just content to stare. Dean shifts a little, but he doesn’t look away.

“What?”

Castiel smiles idly.

“I just want to sleep with you.”

Dean leans down.

“I think you just did,” he whispers. Castiel snorts.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

 

 

Dean is soft around him, and Castiel reaches down, pulling the sheets over the both of them. He doesn’t want this to end, but he feels himself slipping, falling down into that half-sleep where everything is soft and light. Dean’s gentle hands caress him, the hum of his voice lulling him under. He struggles against it.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” Castiel asks quietly. He hadn’t meant to sound so needy.

But Dean only presses a soft kiss to his cheek, his voice weightless in his ear.

“Always.”

 

 

 

And when Castiel wakes the next morning, he doesn’t feel sadness at the fact that the other side of the bed is empty. He rolls over and sees the sigil scrubbed from the wall, a promise of more to come. He smiles.

 

It hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Anna sighs, rolling over.

She bunches the pillow up under her head, trying to will her mind to turn off. But it just keeps running. She probably shouldn’t have had that third cup of coffee.

 

They had been going over all the omens, all the lore they could dig up from Dad’s stores, but so far it had turned up jack squat. Well. Not like she expected to find a how-to guide on stopping the apocalypse.

She rubs her eyes, exhaling. Gabriel told her to get some sleep, saying that they’d look at it with fresh eyes in the morning—but looks like that won’t be happening.

She glances at the clock. 3:47 am. Wonderful.

 

Anna chews her lip for a moment, then curses, flopping over again. She rolls over onto her side, facing the empty side of the bed.

And looks right into his eyes.

 

“Hey, baby,” Raphael says softly.

 

 

She scrambles back, staring at him in shock.

“No,” she whispers. “You’re dead. I killed you.”

 

Raphael sits up, a dark smile on his face.

“But I’m here now.”

He reaches for her, fingertips just brushing her thigh. Anna jerks back, snatching her knife from the bedside table. He pouts.

“Oh, c’mon.”

He stands.

“Thought we’d moved past that.”

 

He starts to walk forward, but Anna backs away from him, shaking her head.

“I killed you once, I can kill you again,” she whispers hoarsely.

Raphael presses his lips together, sighing heavily.

“Anna.”

He moves closer, but she doesn’t back down, even though her arm is shaking. Raphael steps right into her space, but the knife just passes through his chest like mist. He’s only a shadow.

“It’s a dream, darling,” he murmurs. “You can’t hurt me.”

 

Anna is motionless. Raphael reaches out, one hand curling around her wrist.

“And I can’t hurt you.” His eyes flick up, catching her own. “But don’t think that means I wouldn’t like to.”

 

 

She swallows heavily, darting her eyes up to his face, down to the knife and back again.

“You’re in my head,” she mutters. “This isn’t real.”

Raphael smiles, his eyes dark.

“True.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“Nothing, honey.” He grins. “Just wanted to thank you.”

 

 

Raphael grips her arm, turning down the knife. Anna struggles against him, but he pushes her away like she’s nothing but air.

“Never got the chance to. Not really.” He purses his lips. “You stabbed me with my own knife, just before the good part.”

He yanks the knife from her grasp, but Anna doesn’t try to resist.

“Abaddon being free?” She glares at him. “That’s the good part?”

He grins.

“Bingo.”

 

The demon flips the blade, his eyes glittering.

“Always told you I believed in God. Just forgot to mention her name.”

He glances up.

“Tell me, you still believe in _your_ God? I know Castiel abandoned him a long time ago, but you were never above praying when the time…came.”

Raphael leers at her. Anna curls her hands into fists, rage simmering in her blood.

“And I seem to remember you saying God’s name,” he breathes, stepping closer. “Over, and over…and over—“

She punches him, square in the jaw.

 

“Fuck you,” she snarls.

 

 

Raphael drags his face back to center, laughing.

“Oh, c'mon,” he taunts. “You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

 

 

She stares at him, yelling at herself in her mind.

_Come on, Anna. Wake up, wake up, wake up…_

 

“And you have no _idea_ , how hard it was.”

Raphael licks his lips.

“Spinning all that crap about saving the world, closing the gates of Hell, and you—waxing poetic about your damn brother the whole time…”

He exhales slowly, baring his teeth.

“Really tries a guy’s patience.”

 

Raphael settles back down on the bed, never once breaking the gaze. He blinks slowly, and when his eyes open, they’re that deep, fathomless black.

“All I had to do was tell one little lie about Cas going to die, and you bend over backwards trying to save him.”

He chuckles, a cruel smile on his lips.

“Pretty big weak spot.”

 

She glares at him.

“But of course, he went and screwed it all up,” Raphael mutters.

Anna narrows her eyes.

“What?”

The demon tilts his head, a jeering tone to his voice.

“You think this was all chance? There’s a reason it was _you_ , Anna.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” She breathes. Raphael slowly points the knife at her.

 

“You were always supposed to open the gate. You were supposed to get sucked in, _you_ were supposed to be the one trapped in Hell—Alastair wouldn’t be able to get to you, and Abaddon would be free, free to take her vessel, free to take the world, no competition—nothing stopping her.”

Anna stares at him, her mind utterly blank.

_But Cas—_

 

Raphael sighs, dropping the knife to the bedspread beside.

“But instead, Castiel stepped in. The unforeseeable, unexpected _, irritating_ spanner in the works.”

 

He stands, an eerie smile spreading across his face.

“So, I suppose…I really should thank him, too.”

 

She tenses. That voice has turned light and lisping, and Raphael’s face starts to melt, his black eyes now pale as ice—and the demon is gone. Instead, a thin man sits in his place, staring intently at her. Anna’s heart freezes in her chest.

 

 

“Alastair,” she breathes.

 

 

“Hello, Anna,” he says softly.

 

 

 

She backs away, but there’s nowhere to go. Her back hits the wall, but still, Alastair slowly approaches her, his gaze unblinking.

“I do wish we could have met under better circumstances, but…”

He brings his hands in front of him, long white fingers steepled together.

“The times they are a-gettin’ desperate,” he says softly.

 

Anna digs her nails into her palms, breathing hard. She looks him up and down, cataloging him, assessing the threat. He may be an angel—the friggin’ _archangel_ —but he doesn’t look like much. An older man, with a scraggly beard and a crisp pristine button up shirt. But despite his appearance, Anna can feel his power, radiating off him in waves. It’s almost as if it’s calling to her.

 

“I know.”

Alastair holds up a hand, examining it carefully, like he heard her thoughts.

“The pediatrician I’m wearing is just a little bit…”

He cracks his neck with a sick sound.

“Shabby,” he purrs.

 

His piercing gaze darts up, boring into hers.

“Can’t wait to upgrade,” he murmurs.

“Fuck off,” Anna snarls.

 

Alastair sighs, dropping his hand.

“Mmm, not in the cards. I got this fight comin’, you see. Big heavyweight showdown.”

He paces around the room, his voice high-pitched and airy, like he’s talking to a five-year-old.

“Daddy signed me up and I’m, uh, I’m gonna follow through.”

He turns.

“And no one is going to stand in my way,” he says softly.

 

Anna musters up her courage.

“Yeah, well. You need my permission.” She curls her lip. “And I’m telling you right now: no fucking way.”

 

Alastair's expression doesn’t change. He just continues to smile at her serenely.

“Oh, I’ll get it. It may take some time…but you will say yes to me.”

“I’ll die first,” Anna snarls.

He shrugs.

“I’ll just bring you back.”

 

She stares at him. He tsks gently.

 

“Oh, Anna.”

 

Alastair steps forward.

“I don’t know who turned you against me. I’m not the enemy here. Surely, you have to see that.”

He sighs, clasping his hands together.

“I am trying to save this world. Bring paradise. Bring peace. To everyone.” He pauses. “Especially you.”

She tightens her jaw, but stands her ground. Alastair moves closer, eyes raking down her body, then back up to her face.

“All your hurt, all your pain…" he says softly. "I can make it go away, you know.”

Anna breathes hard through her nose, not moving a muscle.

“I can bring your parents back,” Alastair whispers. “Your daddy. The one who could never protect you. And…Mommy Dearest. The one you never met.” He reaches up, one hand reaching for her face. She flinches.

“The first thing you ever did was kill somebody,” he says, running gentle fingers over Anna's cheek. “I’m sure that guilt just…eats away at your soul.”

“Shut up,” she whispers.

“I mean, you let the Devil out.” Alastair curls a lock of her hair around one finger, his eyes gleaming. “You unleashed that stain upon the world. Don’t you want the chance to redeem yourself?”

Anna is frozen. His voice is almost hypnotizing, soft and sweet—and she tears her eyes from his, shaking her head.

“No,” she breathes.

“Working with demons,” he says, his voice growing harsher. “The blood. You can finally be washed clean of your past, Anna. Absolved of your sins.”

 

She puts her hands to her ears, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Stop it,” she chokes out. “Stop—“

 

“I don’t want this anymore than you would want to kill Castiel.”

She freezes at the mention of her brother.

 

“Abaddon…I still love her. I do.”

She shakily looks up. Alastair’s eyes are sad.

“But I will kill her,” he says softly. “Because it is right.”

 

Anna takes a slow step back.

“Because your Dad says so?” 

“Yes.”

His voice is steely.

“You cannot fight fate, Anna.”

“That’s bullshit.”

 

Alastair looks at her sharply, the air around them seeming to crackle with heat. Anna takes a deep breath.

“Sorry, but that’s bullshit,” she says again, even though her legs feel like they’re about to give out. “There’s a choice. We always have a choice.”

 

 

Alastair says nothing for a moment, Alastair's pale eyes roaming over her face. Then his lip curls.

“Free will,” he mutters, like the very words are disgusting. “One of the reasons that makes you _human_ , isn’t it?”

 

He darts a hand out, seizing her neck. Anna gasps, and chokes, grabbing at his wrists. Alastair’s eyes have turned dark, and he towers over her, his voice thundering.

“You’re not strong enough, girl,” he hisses. “Give it up.”

 

Anna grasps at his sleeve, desperate for air. Her vision spots, starting to fade—but she summons the last of her strength, meeting his eyes.

“Go to hell,” she chokes out.

 

 

 

The hand around her throat vanishes, and Anna collapses, sucking in gasping breaths.

"You can't run, Anna."

His cold voice comes again.

 

“I know you’re hiding in that little warded place of yours,” Alastair says. “But I’ll find you before long.”

 

He leans down, forcing her eyes on his.

 

“And then I’ll show you just exactly how persuasive I can be.”

 

 

 

 

Anna jerks up, her heart pounding.

 

 

She glances around wildly.

She’s in her bedroom. Alone. Awake.

 

 

 

She falls back against the pillow, covering her face with her hand. The other makes her way under her pillow, where it finds Raphael’s knife, and she curls her fingers around the hilt, clinging tight.

She stays like that the whole night, frozen, not daring to fall asleep again.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Castiel ruffles his hair and settles back in his chair, smiling.

Even Gabriel’s ridiculous jokes couldn’t annoy him today. Castiel traces a finger around the rim of his coffee cup, absentmindedly staring off as he props his chin on one palm, thinking.

It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t perfect. After the first night, Dean had tried to come back as often as he could, little stolen moments, snatched in between cases and crises. There were droughts and spurts, times when Castiel wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t hear a word or a whisper. Then Dean would blaze in—bright and perfect and swallow Castiel whole again, filling his soul back up, quenching the thirst that had building in his absence.

But they were only brief escapes, an hour, sometimes two, that more often than not left Castiel panting and unsatisfied as the air around him swirled and he was left alone. Again.

 

Castiel's mind drifts to the last time he saw Dean, when he had nearly scared Castiel to death—they were on a case and Dean appeared out of nowhere, pulling him into the hospital closet, kissing and rutting up against him until they both came with choked cries and swallowed gasps. Castiel had stumbled out of the closet after a brief makeout session with a dopey expression on his face, and Gabriel had smacked him, telling him to stop smiling and focus.

 

Gabriel smacks him again now.

“Dude.”

Castiel’s elbow slips off the table.

“What?” He says stupidly. Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Hello? Werewolf case ringing a bell? You wanna give us your input?”

Castiel mutters an apology and quickly pulls his chair around to look at Anna’s laptop, but he can still feel Gabe’s eyes boring into him. Castiel tries to focus on the screen, but eventually sits back, raising his hands.

 

“Alright. What?”

Gabriel smirks.

“Don’t ‘what’ me. Just wanna know what’s got you acting like a complete space cadet.”

He bats his eyelashes at Castiel.

“Got your head up in the clouds with your precious _angel_?”

“Shut up.”

“Oooh, looks like I hit a nerve.” Gabriel leers at him. “Must be right then.”

“Gabriel. Kindly go stick your head in a toilet,” Castiel says dryly, now reading the latest police report.

“Hooooo, absolutely _vicious_ , Cas. You’re getting saucy in your old age.”

“I might remind you that you are six years older than me.”

“Ahh, but I’m young at heart.”

 

Anna slams the cabinet behind them.

“Can we focus, please?” She snaps.

 

Cas looks up from the laptop, his joking expression quickly turning into concern. Anna braces her hands against the counter, fuming.

“Hey...you okay?”

She bites her lip, shaking her head slightly.

“Fine.”

 

She didn’t tell either of them about Alastair. Cas had been smiling these past couple of weeks, happier than she had seen him in months. Years. She's not going to spoil that.

She had prayed to Charlie last night, asking her for something that would stop all angels from gate crashing her head. Charlie thankfully didn’t ask the reason, but obliged.

 

But Anna can’t just sit around and wait for the archangel to find her.

 

“I just think we should go after this piece of shit Alastair instead of just sitting on our hands,” she grits out.

“Whoa, whoa—okay, okay.”

Castiel stands, coming around to her side. 

“We’re working on it, alright?" He says, his voice soothing. "We’ll find something.”

 

Anna bites the inside of her cheek, glancing over. She sees Gabriel and Castiel exchange a look, and her temper flares.

 

“I’m going to bed.”

 

Castiel glances at the clock. It’s barely seven thirty.

“Um…Anna…”

“Goodnight,” she says shortly, and slams the door behind her. Gabriel purses his lips.

“Goodnight,” he calls after her. Castiel gives him a look. Gabriel shrugs.

“Hey, don’t look at me. I’ve never understood that kid.”

 

 

x

 

Dean tastes like Heaven.

 

That’s the only coherent thought Castiel can manage, because when Dean’s hands are on his body and Dean's mouth is against his, there’s not a lot Castiel's mind dregs up except stupid metaphors.

“Dean—” he gasps, as he’s shoved back against the wall.

“Cas,” he breathes back, capturing his lips again. Dean's hands tug through Castiel's hair and come to settle on his neck, panting against him, insistent and demanding. Castiel vaguely remembers there’s something he’s supposed to be doing, some other reason for why he called Dean down, but as described earlier—upstairs brain is not functioning at the moment.

“Oh, god,” Castiel groans, Dean’s teeth scraping against his neck.

“You can call me Dean,” he whispers back, smirking.

 

Dean grabs his waist and pulls Castiel closer, slipping a thigh in between his legs, and Castiel nearly loses it. His body fights him the whole way, but he manages to catch Dean’s cheek, tipping his head back out of reach of his lips.

“Dean,” he says weakly. “You gotta—you gotta stop.”

Dean pulls back, raising an eyebrow. His cheeks are flushed pink, his hair all disheveled, and Castiel suddenly can’t remember why he isn’t kissing him.

No. Apocalypse. Saving the world. Do that thing. Right. That.

 

“As much as I do enjoy kissing you,” Castiel says, trying to catch his breath, “I did call you here for a reason.”

Dean laughs, propping an arm against the wall above Castiel’s head. He rests his forehead there, his other hand warm on Castiel’s neck.

“Sorry. It’s just…”

He sighs.

“Dunno when I’m gonna see you again.”

Dean turns his head slightly, smiling at him.

“Feel like I gotta make the most of it, y’know?”

 

Castiel sobers.

“I know.”

He rubs Dean's arm, gently curling around his wrist and taking his hand. Dean squeezes back, rubbing his thumb softly over Castiel's skin.

“Come here.”

 

Dean steps forward willingly, smirking slightly at him. But Castiel just pulls him close, resting his forehead against his own.

“I know,” he says again, closing his eyes. He can feel Dean’s breath soft against his face, and Castiel tightens the grip on his hands.

Time is winding down on them. It's one thing to be optimistic, to keep the faith—but it's another thing to see the reality of their lives. Castiel wants nothing more than to spend as much of his remaining time with the ones he loves.

He gives Dean one last kiss, then pulls back, trying to drag his attention back to the task at hand. He combs a hand through his hair and tries to straighten his clothes as he heads over to the table, clearing his throat.

 

“I think I know someone that can help us.” Castiel sighs. “Hopefully.”

“Yeah?”

 

Castiel nods, teeth worrying his bottom lip. They’d wrapped up the werewolf case nicely, but Anna had been acting strange ever since, and Castiel had finally decided it wasn’t worth it to hold on to his doubts. He had really hoped it wouldn’t come to this—but the time for sitting around had long since passed. And if this plan works…

 

“Someone who usually knows a thing or two about things he shouldn’t.”

Dean looks at him strangely, but Castiel just inclines his head, beckoning him forward. All the ingredients are set up, but Castiel hadn’t wanted to call him without Dean being here.

 

Castiel picks up his knife and starts to pull back his sleeve. Dean’s hand comes to settle on the small of Castiel's back, his voice curious.

“What are you doing?”

Castiel grimaces.

“Making a deal with a devil.”

 

He quickly slices down his arm, and Dean immediately freaks.

“Dude—“ He stutters, grabbing Castiel's arm and reaching for the injury. Castiel holds up a hand.

“Wait—“

His blood starts to trickle into the pot, and Castiel exhales slowly, clenching his fist.

“Trust me.”

 

Dean’s gaze narrows, but he backs off, watching intently. Castiel calms himself, and starts to recite the summoning spell, his eyes sliding closed. Once he finishes the incantation, it’s barely five seconds after it’s finished that the bastard flashes in, trademark cocky smile fully in place.

“Cassie!” He says brightly.

 

 

Then he catches sight of Dean.

 

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa_ —“

He immediately pinwheels back, holding up his hands.

“Angels were not part of the job description!”

 

Dean snarls, shoving Castiel behind him. Castiel grabs Dean’s shoulder, tugging at his shirt.

“Dean—“

“He’s a demon, Cas!”

Dean's clenched fist flares white, and Castiel recognizes that look. It’s his ‘I’m-about-to-kill-everything’ look, and Castiel hastily pulls Dean back, putting himself in between them.

“Dean, stop—”

He holds out a placating hand.

“Balthazar, wait.”

 

Balthazar narrows his eyes, but stays put. He watches shiftily as Castiel grabs a rag from the table, wrapping it around his forearm. Dean is still glaring.

“It’s okay. Really,” Castiel tells him. “He’s helped me before.”

Behind him, Balthazar snorts loudly.

“Not without a price. I don’t work for free, darling.” He blinks, his eyes sliding black. “Or have you forgotten?”

Dean snarls.

“Shut up, _demon._ ”

Balthazar shrugs.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

 

Dean’s eyes flash, but thankfully, he chooses not to say anything. Instead he turns to Castiel, gently removing the rag from his arm. He quickly heals the cut, a hint of concern filtering through his anger. Castiel thanks him quietly, then turns to greet Balthazar.

He steps forward, flexing his newly-healed wrist.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, sticking out the hand.

 

Balthazar’s eyes slide to normal, and he clasps it.

“Always happy to help a friend,” he purrs.

 

 

Castiel tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. His father had always told Castiel that Balthazar was one of the few people in this world he could trust with his life, despite his demonic disposition. Dad had never told Castiel exactly how he was so certain of his integrity, but the demon had definitely been useful over the years. It was Balthazar who warned Castiel about Raphael in the first place.

“Sorry for the short notice—it’s just…” Castiel trails off, glancing at Dean. “We need…information.”

Balthazar spreads his arms.

“Jack of all trades, ready to serve.”

Dean snarls under his breath.

“You can’t trust a demon,” he snaps. “That’s one thing I know for sure.”

Balthazar swivels his head to glare at the angel.

“Oh. Well. Good for you.”

He turns back to Castiel, jerking his thumb to indicate Dean.

“You want to put your smitey dog on a leash, Castiel?”

Dean, ever-helpful, just growls at him.

 

“Dean, stop.”

Castiel glares at him, silently telling him to _back the fuck up_. Dean crosses his arms, turning to glare out the window. Castiel sighs.

“Balthazar,” he says tiredly. “We need help.”

The demon eyes him curiously, and Castiel decides to just lay it out on the line.

“Archangels.”

 

Balthazar raises an eyebrow.

“Archangels,” he repeats. He shoots a glance over at Dean.

“My dear Cassie…” He tsks. “What have you got yourself tangled up in this time?”

Castiel laughs bitterly.

“A whole lot of crap,” he says, grimacing. “So please. If you got anything.”

Balthazar barely masks his grin, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Well, now…let me think…”

 

Castiel sighs loudly, but Balthazar ignores him.

He suddenly disappears, popping in again behind Dean’s shoulder and poking him in the back.

Dean whirls, snarling. Castiel hastily grabs his arm.

“Wait,” he hisses.

Dean stills, clenching his fists. Balthazar is grinning at them.

“Oh, oh, oh.” He beams. “So glad there’s an angel in the mix.”

Dean glares at him. Balthazar sizes Dean up, dragging his eyes up his entire body. Something in Castiel rankles at the demon’s suggestive smirk, and he quickly interrupts.

“Balthazar. Come on.” He grudgingly lets go of Dean’s arm. “Have you got anything?”

Balthazar shrugs.

“Perhaps.”

He smiles widely.

“But it’ll cost you.”

 

When he doesn’t elaborate, Dean snaps at him.

“What?”

Balthazar doesn’t even deign to look at him.

“ _Well_ ,” he says, lazily bringing up a hand to inspect his fingernails. “Seems like you want something a bit more permanent than the usual fare, am I correct? Something that’ll stop them for good?” He glances up. “Or did you just want to invite one for tea?”

Castiel opens his mouth, then hesitates.

“We…have weapons,” he says, trying to ignore Balthazar’s self-satisfied expression.

But beside him, Dean shakes his head.

“Only the sword of an archangel can kill another archangel. I’ve never even seen one,” he adds, a little bitterly.

Balthazar purses his lips.

“I have.”

 

They both whip their heads around, staring at him. The demon smiles triumphantly.

“Come again?” Dean says, voice dangerously low.

Balthazar shrugs.

“Well. After Abaddon got ‘booted to the basement’, as it were,” he says airily, “Alastair hid her sword somewhere. Had a bunch of crypts scattered around, and he put it in one of them. At least that’s the whisper in demon knitting circles. Only…” He trails off, glancing up at them.

Dean growls.

“Only what?”

Balthazar wags a finger.

“Ah, ah, ah. Patience.”

 

He looks back down at his hand, now picking at some non-existent dirt. Castiel groans.

“Balthazar.”

He doesn’t answer. Castiel sighs loudly.

“Seriously. Don’t make me exorcise you.”

Balthazar heaves a dramatic sigh, then draws up a chair.

“Touchy touchy,” he mutters.

 

He sinks gracelessly down into it, cocking an eyebrow.

“Fine.”

 

He waves a hand, a bottle of scotch and a glass appearing instantly in front of him.

“In the past two years, someone managed to dig it up.”

He pours himself a hefty amount, taking a generous swig.

Dean frowns, but Castiel is prickling with excitement. If they had a weapon, they could put a stop to this apocalypse before it even begins. Cut off the head before the snake can bite.

 

He crosses his arms, squinting at the demon.

“Okay, so it’s out in the playing field. Where is it?”

Balthazar rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“Good lord, I don’t know where it is. But—last I hear, some fellow named Crowley was gunning for it.”

“So you’re useless,” Dean says nastily. Balthazar gives him a look.

“Well. Not completely.”

He takes another sip, swilling the liquid around in his glass.

“Happen to have an ancient scroll-y such and such on the thing. Probably will tell you more on the lore and the omens the blade will carry. Then—I imagine all you have to do is look for those signs—and boom.” He spreads his hands. “There you go.”

 

“That’s…”

Castiel shifts his weight, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s actually a really good idea.”

Balthazar grins.

“They don’t pay me just to look pretty.”

He rubs his fingers together.

“And…speaking of which…”

 

Castiel sighs.

“What do you want for it?” he asks flatly.

Balthazar looks up, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

 

He smirks at Dean, who’s still glaring.

“You actually got feathers, or what?” He wags the glass in his direction. “Could use some angel feathers.”

If looks could kill, Balthazar would be nothing but a smoldering pile of ash.

“Pluck a few, eh?” The demon says, grinning.

“Bite me," Dean shoots back.

Castiel elbows him.

“Dean. Do we need this blade or not?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Instead, he stalks forward until he’s right in front of Balthazar, drawing up to his full height.

“Maybe you’re lying,” he hisses. “Maybe you know exactly where it is.”

Castiel can see Balthazar struggling not to roll his eyes.

“So how about I kill you,” Dean whispers. “And we just take the sword.”

 

Balthazar is unimpressed.

“I told you, I don’t have it, you cretin.” He stands and slips away from Dean, sauntering over to Castiel and throwing an arm around his shoulder. “But I’ll be glad to tell my _good friend_ Castiel where it is, if he gets this rogue dick off my ass.”

Dean opens his mouth furiously, but Castiel quickly interrupts.

“Fine,” he grits out, glaring at Dean. “What—“

But Balthazar isn’t done.

“Seriously, I thought angels were supposed to be intelligent,” he says, facing Dean. “God waste all those brains on the mud monkeys?”

“You little—“

Castiel has to physically push Dean back, shielding him from Balthazar’s cocky grin.

 

The demon cackles to himself, downing another slug of scotch while Castiel tries to calm down six feet of pissed off angel. They argue in hushed whispers, until finally Dean throws up his hands and retreats to the corner.

 

“Okay,” Castiel says, closing his eyes briefly before turning back to face him. “We’ll bite.”

He steps away from Dean, once he’s sure he isn’t about to smite their meal ticket.

“Tell us about this Crowley.”

Balthazar settles back in the chair.

“Skeevy little bastard,” he says, propping up his feet. “Self-described purveyor of supernatural items.”

“And you know where he lives?”

“Ah, Castiel. We still haven’t discussed payment.”

 

Castiel groans, kneading his forehead. He’s starting to get a headache from all this back and forth bullshit.

“What do you want?” He asks unenthusiastically.

Balthazar makes another attempt, almost whining at Dean.

“Seriously. Do you know what I could get for some angel feathers?”

Dean looks up from his funk.

“You do realize we don’t actually have feathers, right?” He sneers. “Incorporeal.”

Balthazar shrugs.

“Okay. Bit of angel blood then.”

Dean glances at Castiel. He nods at him.

“Fine,” Dean says shortly.

 

He sticks out a hand, and a vial full of dark red liquid appears in his palm. Balthazar’s face lights up. He takes it from Dean, gleefully admiring it a moment before pocketing it.

“Thank you, my feathery friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” Dean mumbles under his breath.

 

Balthazar quickly gets busy, telling all he knows about Crowley, including his last known location—and then at the end of it, Balthazar pulls a musty old scroll from the folds of his coat, handing it to Castiel.

“I wish you the best of luck, boys,” he says, wiping his hands. “Killing an archangel is no cakewalk.”

He straightens his jacket, giving Castiel a little nod. He returns it slowly. He watches as Balthazar downs the last of his scotch, debating.

“Balthazar.”

 

The demon wipes his lips, raising an eyebrow. Castiel crosses his arms.

“You gonna be okay?”

Balthazar glances up, a scornful expression of confusion on his face.

“And whatever do you mean by that?”

Castiel shrugs.

“I don’t know. Aren’t all demons loyal to Abaddon? You could catch hell for this.”

Balthazar looks at him curiously for a moment, then laughs, setting down his glass.

“That prick, no.” He snorts. “Believe me, there are plenty of us who would love to see her fail. We like this earth too.” He glances at Dean. “Heavenly Paradise means no more us. And if Abaddon wins…well.”

His eyes have darkened.

“You can guarantee she’ll wipe us out and start over with a clean slate. I know her all too well.”

He stares grimly at the wall for a second, silent. Castiel chews his lip.

 

Then Balthazar straightens, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Gentlemen. It has been a pleasure.”

 

And with that, he disappears.

 

x

 

 

Castiel’s wound is bleeding again.

It had been a couple days, but for some reason, the damn cut won’t close. He hopes it isn’t cursed or some shit like that.

They had run into some demons after their last case, and one had managed to give Castiel a nasty slice before Anna could kill it. And he doesn’t have any angel mojo to heal him up.

Dean had quickly taken off after the encounter with Balthazar, to find Sam and Charlie and fill them in, and the Remingtons were left to continue life as they always had. Dean had made Castiel promise not to do anything with the blade until they had more information, and Castiel had grudgingly agreed.

He swears under his breath as he checks under the bandage. He’s going to have to rinse this out.           

 

 

He starts off down the hall to the bathroom, the soft voices of Anna and Gabriel echoing from the kitchen. They must be still catching up. The two of them had only slid in from the road a couple hours ago, and Castiel had retreated into his room for some much needed time alone with his thoughts. And the bottle of Jack hidden in the back of his closet, but Gabriel and Anna didn’t need to know about that.

 

“Sam said that?”

Gabriel’s voice is quiet.

“Yeah. ‘There are things even angels can’t heal.’” He laughs bitterly. “Fuckin’ pagan gods, man.”

Castiel tenses.

“I don’t think he ever intended to kill them,” Gabriel finishes quietly.

Castiel swallows. This isn’t a conversation he’s meant to hear.

“At least they’re together,” Anna says softly. Gabriel’s answering sigh is heavy, choked with held-back emotion.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Locked up in a mental hospital in Canada under fake names. That’s a great way to end up.”

Castiel closes his eyes. He shouldn’t be listening to this.

He creeps silently past them, slipping into the bathroom and quietly shutting the door.

Shit. He was never as close to their aunt and uncle as Anna had been, but—

Castiel takes a deep breath, composing himself. He shoves it from his mind, pulling a towel from the rack.

 

After he finishes taping on the new bandage, he cautiously creaks open the door. He can’t hear anything. Maybe they finally went to bed.

Castiel starts quietly back to his room, when Gabriel’s voice freezes him again.

“—don’t think we should.”

“Gabriel—“

“It’ll work, yes, but—“

“Don’t give me any of that shit. Locating spell aren't that bad.”

Castiel cocks his head. He can’t have heard her right.

“I already used one for Dean’s vessel; we’ll just have to tweak it a bit. Might take a little more power, but it should work.”

Castiel stiffens.

“You gonna be able to handle it?”

“I have to.”

Anna sighs.

“I know Cas is the one who always whines and complains about sitting on the sidelines, but I’m fucking tired of it too. Anything I can do to help.”

“Speaking of Cas—“

“We’ve gone over this, Gabe. We can’t tell him."

Castiel is rooted to the spot. There's a pounding in his head, pressure building up behind his ears, threatening to overwhelm him. 

“So you think that’s the solution? Keep on going behind his back?”

“Have you seen him these days? He seriously scares me, sometimes.”

“Hey, if I’d been sent to Hell against my will, I’d probably be damn angry too.”

 

Castiel presses a palm against the wall, breathing hard. The one thing— _the one thing_  he thought he’d never have to worry about again. That first hard bitter betrayal, replaying itself again, like a sick joke.

 

Anna and Gabriel are still talking, their voices low.

“The scroll's a good start," he hears her say. "But who knows if Balthazar can even be trusted?”

Castiel shoves back and steels himself, shakily stepping out of the darkness into the doorway. Anna and Gabriel are sitting at the kitchen table, faces tired and drawn.

 

“And since when do you worry about trusting demons?”

 

 

 

Anna looks up, and freezes.

“Cas,” she breathes.

 

Gabriel whirls, the worry on his face briefly shifting to fear before flashing away again.

 

“Really?”

 

 

Castiel clenches his fists.

“After what that bastard did to you?” He whispers.

Anna stands quickly, attempting to placate him.

“Cas, wait—it’s not like that—“

“Then what is it, Anna?” He shouts. “Try to explain this in a way that could make it sound any less fucked up then it is!”

She shakes her head, her voice hard.

“Look, Cas—the spell is good, it’ll work—I mean, if we’re careful—“

Castiel snarls, but Anna quickly cuts him off, raising her hands.

“I know how to use it now, okay? I do. You know it only went bad because Raphael wanted it to. He tricked me—“

 

“Did he trick you into fucking him too?” Castiel snaps.

 

 

 

 

“Don’t you dare.”

 

Anna’s eyes are flaming, her fury thick and hot in the air between them.

“Don’t you _dare_ , Castiel Remington,” she hisses.

 

Gabriel bolts up, placing himself squarely in between the two of them.

“Cas, listen—“

Castiel tries to shove him away, but Gabriel grabs his arm tight, forcing him back.

“Cas—“

“Do you know how screwed up this is?” Castiel hisses at Anna over Gabriel’s shoulder. “How far from _normal_?”

He pushes back from Gabriel, and they stare at each other, breathing heavily. Castiel turns, meeting her eyes.

“What would Dad say?” He whispers.

 

Anna goes absolutely still. She doesn’t say anything, but her mouth tightens, her lips white.

 

 

"Cas."

Gabriel draws himself up to his full height, even though Castiel’s still got at least three inches on him.

“You need to calm down,” he says. “You know Anna’s got the power. If this works, we’ll finally find the blade, and we’ll have the angels back at our side, and we’ll be one step closer—“

“Not like this, Gabriel!” Castiel shouts. “No!”

Gabriel narrows his eyes. Anna is watching them, her expression still murderous.

 

“Cas. It’s the goddamn apocalypse.”

Castiel screws his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“You got a hunter with a couple extra shots of juice—only makes our job easier.”

“Are you _kidding_? God—out of all the ideas you’ve had, Gabriel, this is the _worst_ —“

“Cas.”

He holds up his hands, trying to placate him.

“One spell. Then it’s done. We find the blade and that’s it.”

Castiel growls, turning away from him. He wants to scream at the both of them until he can’t scream anymore.

“I’m not going to let you do this,” he spits. "Especially you," he shoots at Anna. Her eyes flash.

“Cas, how is this any different from what we’ve done over the years? What _you’ve_ done?” She says, stalking up to him. He opens his mouth to argue, but Anna shakes her head, cutting him off.

“Christ—summoning spells, exorcisms—it’s the same damn thing!”

“No, it’s not!” Castiel shouts. “This is _dark_ , Anna, it’s an addiction—you told me that yourself—you said you couldn’t stop—and look what fucking happened!”

He knows he should stop, because it’s all coming up—a violent storm of hate and betrayal—spewing like bile from his throat.

“You opened that damn door to Hell and I had to die for it!” He yells. “I was the one who had to clean up after you, like I’ve done my entire fucking life!”

 

Castiel’s shouts seem to echo around the walls, throwing his own words back to him. He takes a step back, clutching at his chest.

 

 

 

Anna’s jaw tightens, and she nods a few times, looking down.

Then she punches him.

 

 

Castiel staggers back, his face stinging. Gabriel is frozen, and Anna’s still got her fist up, as if she's ready to hit him again.

 

A stab of horror and guilt and pain twists his stomach, and Castiel brings a hand to his mouth, shaking his head.

“Anna,” he whispers. She takes no pity on him.

“I am sorry. _Castiel_.”

Her voice is tense, a string pulled tight, ready to snap.

“I know this is my mess,” she hisses. “I know I fucked it all to Hell. But that’s why I want to fix it. Why I’m _going_ _to_ fix it.” Her eyes are cold.

“With or without your permission.”

 

Anna stalks towards the door, barely stopping to grab her jacket from the table.

Castiel takes a halting step forward, his voice cracking the silence.

“Where are you going?”

Her hand freezes on the doorknob, and she throws a glare back at him, her lips curled in a sneer.

“You get to run off and disappear all the time, so why can’t I?”

 

And with that, Anna slams the door behind her, the sound echoing through the cabin like a gunshot. Gabriel and Castiel are left staring at the door, frozen in tense silence.

“Don’t worry.”

 

Castiel looks at him. Gabriel shrugs, his voice shaky.

“She can’t get far. She gonna run away on foot?”

 

That’s when the unmistakable sound of a car engine comes from outside. Gabriel’s Chevelle.

 

Gabriel's face drains of color.

“Crap.”

 

 

 

 

 

xxx

 

He’s seventeen years old. Anna is sitting on the bench opposite him, her face clouded and pinched. She’s trying not to cry.

Castiel fiddles with the unyielding material of his clothes. They had ordered it special, just for today. He hadn’t been to a funeral since he was seven. Not since Mom, then Joshua.

And now, Dad.

He looks up.

 

She looks just like she did the day that Castiel told her monsters were real.

 

Anna's face is blank, and she’s fidgeting underneath the stiff wool of her black dress. Castiel eyes the people that walk past, glaring at those that stop to murmur their condolences, to say empty words of regret and sadness. He doesn’t want to hear it. He just wants to get away.

It’s an insult, to see these hollow souls pass by, pretending that they care, that they sympathize, that they know the pain his death left in their hearts. Castiel wishes he had his shotgun.

He stands suddenly, and Anna shakes her head. She knows him too well.

“No, Cas. Don’t—“

 

But he stalks away, fists clenching as he pushes past the well-wishers, through the sea of black clothing. He hears the whispers as he passes, of the concerned adult voices, of the pity.

“His mother died when he was young…”

“His death was so sudden, no one knows what happened…”

“I heard they’ll inherit the church, but not a lot of money in it…”

“All alone now, poor things…”

 

Castiel finally breaks out, into the air, into the darkness of the graveyard. His father is buried here, they just buried him not thirty minutes ago, but Castiel can’t go there. He can’t look at the upturned ground, the fresh dirt covering his body, the coffin that he knows lies below that six feet of earth.

 

There’s a couple people dotted amongst the headstones, but they mostly ignore him, lost in remembering their own loved ones.

 

 

He finally gets to the corner of the graveyard that not many people know, where the statues are thick, and no one will see him.

He sinks to his knees against one of his favorite monuments. A woman. Not crying, like so many of the figures adorning the graves. No. This one is kind, her face graced with a beautiful smile, and Castiel drops, collapsing at her feet.

He presses a hand against the cool stone, closing his eyes. His fingers spread out unconsciously, as if to grasp at the fabric of her dress. He doesn’t have to look to see it, he’s memorized it in his mind. Eyes cast down, one hand raised slightly, like she’s about to drop the flower she holds into his palm.

But it doesn’t fall.

Hard, solid petals, forever just lingering out of his reach.

 

Castiel hugs his knees to his chest, silently crying into his dress pants. He rocks back and forth, tears and the wet grass soaking into him.

 

 

It’s almost another hour before Anna finds him, and she sits down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. They just hold each other for a while, not speaking.

“I love you,” she had whispered.

“Me too,” Castiel mumbled back, heavy with emotion. She was all he had left. She was everything.

It was in that moment that his world shifted. That his life had changed. She was the center now. She was his cause. He would protect her with his life.

He would always protect her.

 

 

xxx

 

 

Dean sits quietly next to her on the bench, crossing his arms tightly. He thinks if he hadn’t, he might have done something stupid. Like take her hand.

Anna’s so closed off. He knows her too well, knows that she’s barely keeping it together, that she only holds back her tears for the sake of the others in the room, for Gabriel, for the well-wishers, for Cas.

Castiel.

 

Dean looks up, biting his tongue.

His slim fingers are restless, clenching, spreading over the dark material of his suit. Dean can see he’s uncomfortable. He can read it in Castiel's face, feel it in his soul. His expression is twisted, barely civil to those that stop to whisper something they believe is comfort. Dean drops a hand to the bench beneath him, and he has to stop himself from carving deep gouges in the wood.

Why. Why? Why couldn’t he appear to them—if only briefly, just to say something—

A lie, a soft word.

_I knew your father_

It would be so easy. Take physical form, become visible, shake his hand.

_He was a good man_

They would never know. He could do it, right now. Disappear and emerge from the crowd, approach them and murmur a quiet apology.

 

But Dean swallows those feelings, and closes his eyes. It isn’t allowed. Not allowed.

Opposite him, Castiel’s hands twitch. They knot together, long fingers twisting and pulling against each other, as if they could rip his skin apart. Dean looks up.

No blue, no light. Just downcast eyes, a head hanging in sorrow.

 

Dean is almost surprised when Castiel stands, his fists clenched. Anna’s voice rings out from beside him, jarring and disproportionate.

“No, Cas. Don’t—“

But he tears away, disappearing into the crowd, dark hair amongst dark clothes.

Dean darts after him, his hand reaching out with the ghost of a touch.

 

Murmurs, whispers, all of them melt away as they both break out into the misty air of the graveyard, and Castiel quickly makes his way through the twisting labyrinthine passages between the graves, his shoulders set.

Dean follows him like a shadow, his own heart soaked and blackened. He can’t stop to remember how much he’s hurting, how he can’t help. He can only watch.

Castiel stops suddenly, his body freezing as he reaches his destination, a gently carved statue, a woman with kindness in her face and softness in her eyes.

And they’re frozen—the world stopping as the dark-haired boy looks up at the still stone, his frame shaking. Dean doesn’t dare move.

 

And then Castiel sinks, legs folding underneath him. He collapses against the cold rock, soft sobs ringing out into the still-light afternoon, twisting around the last rays of the sun.

Dean crawls up next to him, watching. The damp air curls around Castiel's skin and makes his dark hair stick. Dean longs to brush it away from his beautiful eyes.

Oh. Those eyes.

 

Dean sits with him, and the sky slowly darkens around them, casting long shadows across the scattered graves. And he imagines that Castiel knows Dean is there. That they’re simply enjoying each other’s company, soothed by each other’s presence, not needing to speak.

Dean imagines he holds his hand.

 

It’s cold and misty outside, and Castiel is shaking. Dean settles in closer, sending out a slight warmth, hoping to send him some invisible comfort. Castiel stops shivering, but those fractured blue eyes are still dripping tears.

They sit until Anna finds him, her face drawn and worried.

Dean feels almost dirty as she sweeps Castiel into her arms, intruding on their grief, an outsider to their sorrow.

She’s so much younger than he, so small, so dark and sad. But she holds him and becomes the parent for this brief moment, offering him the warmth of her arms as he clings to her strength.

 

_I love you._

Anna whispers.

Dean repeats.

_I love you._

Castiel buries his face into her hair.

_Me too._

Dean imagines he’s speaking to him.

Their fingers intertwine, they hold each other.

 

 

Dean imagines he’s permitted to share their love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. I want to thank you for being so awesome, leaving kudos and comments on this fic! It's seriously one of my favorites I've written, and thank you for sticking with my irregular posting schedule.  
> Unfortunately, I'm going to have to take a mini-hiatus: my family is coming to visit me for about a week and a half, and I won't have any time to write/edit :(  
> BUT! never fear, I'll be back, and hopefully I'll get the next chapter up by August 20th. Fingers crossed.  
> As always, if you want to come geek out with me or ask questions, hit me up on tumblr @ chevrolangels :D
> 
> Again, thank you so much!  
> <3


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *thanks you all for being so patient*  
> ( ˘ ³˘)♥

Anna hops out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

 

She turns, a smile stealing across her face as she walks across the parking lot. Zeke shakes his head as she gets closer, his arms crossed.

“What the hell is that?” He laughs slightly, nodding at the junker behind her. “Thought you said you’d take the bus.”

Anna shrugs, pulling her pack up on her shoulder.

“Figured it’d be faster if I hotwired a car.”

 

He doesn’t scold her, like Cas would’ve done—he just reaches out an arm, tugging her into an embrace.

“Guess some things never change.”

Anna socks him on the arm as he lets her go, scowling.

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

Zeke grins down at her.

“Never.”

 

Anna huffs, sticking her hands in her pockets.

“Well, if I hadn’t stole your car, that vamp would’ve roasted you—so.” She smirks. “Guess we’ll call it even.”

Zeke grins.

“Deal.”

 

He beckons her over to his own car—a van that should have been put out of its misery before it even rolled off the line—but Anna secretly loves it. Goofy and practical, in an endearing sort of way.

She had ditched Gabe’s car a few miles back. In a spot just conspicuous enough that he would find it on the police scanners—just hidden enough to save it from getting its stereo or rims stolen.

...Maybe.

 

 

Zeke gets the keys in the ignition, turning up the A.C.

“Well, uh.”

He shrugs, shifting into drive, not looking at her.

“We got an extra room for you. If you still need a place to crash,” he adds hastily.

Anna twists the strap of her bag around her finger.

“Thanks,” she says softly. “I just—“

She stops briefly, her mood souring.

“Needed to get away for a bit,” she mutters.

 

Zeke doesn’t ask her to elaborate, turning onto the highway.

“I feel you. I love Hannah, you know—but sometimes…”

He doesn’t finish, just lifting his hands in a choking gesture. Anna feels her lips pull up into a smile.

 

It's been...Christ. She doesn't know how long it's been since she's seen Zeke, but it feels like they were never apart. They laugh and banter like they did when they were kids, and for the first time in weeks, Anna's soul feels light. She forgets about the apocalypse, the weight of the world on her shoulders, the fact that she completely fucked humanity over. She lets all of that fade into the background, and just focuses on this.

 

But it doesn't last long. The ride’s pretty short, and barely an hour and a half later, they’re pulling into the driveway of the busted up house—the one Zeke and Hannah have been using as their hideout the past couple years.

Anna follows Zeke inside as he fills her in, unlocking the door and flipping on the lights. He lets her drop off her stuff in the spare room before they head back to the kitchen, talking the whole way.

“Hannah’s a couple hours out, on a case—thinks she’s closing in on a nest of witches.”

He glances over his shoulder, seeing her stiff and awkward behind him—and Zeke stops abruptly, turning around.

“You, uh—you feelin’ up to it?”

He shrugs.

“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want,” he says. “Really.”

 

Anna shakes her head.

“No, it’s, uh—it’s fine. I…I want to. Besides.”

She drops down at the counter in the kitchen, mustering up a smile.

“It’d be nice to hunt with someone who isn’t Cas or Gabe for a change.”

 

Part of her feels a little guilty as she says it—but it’s the truth. Sometimes….family businesses just aren’t they're all cracked up to be.

God. She really needs a break.

 

Anna digs a thumb into her forehead, closing her eyes. She _really_ needs to stop saying God. The friggin’ bastard might hear her.

 

“Oh, hey—how’d that other hunt of yours go?”

 

 

Anna glances up. Zeke isn’t looking at her, grabbing a couple beers from the fridge.

“The one with the demons,” he says, as he straightens, kicking the door closed. “In Colorado, right?”

He hands her a bottle, and Anna accepts it wordlessly, her throat suddenly tight.

“Oh, um—yeah.”

She picks at the label, trying not to look up. She and Cas barely talked about that night.

 

“Sounded like it was pretty urgent.”

 

Zeke’s got his arms crossed, leaning back against the counter. She can hear the curious edge to his voice, but she’s not really sure how much she can tell him.

“They, um,” Anna starts, gripping the bottle tight in her hands.

 

“They took a friend of ours,” she says eventually.

Zeke’s eyes widen.

“Shit." He pauses. "They alright?" 

Anna lifts the bottle to her lips, taking a long sip.

"Yeah," she says eventually. "He's fine."

 

She shrugs.

“Just gave us a hell of a scare, y’know?”

“Damn.”

 

Zeke tosses his own cap onto the counter, huffing out a long breath.

“Those bastards are getting more cocky every day, I swear," he mutters. "You know we ran into one with white eyes the other day?"

Anna looks up sharply.

"What?"

"Yeah," Zeke continues blithely. "Blew past us like it was nothing. You ever heard of something like that?"

 

Anna opens her mouth—but she's spared from answering when Dean suddenly appears, in the middle of the kitchen.

 

 

Zeke drops his bottle in favor of pulling his gun. It hits the ground with a crash, spilling beer all over his shoes. He doesn’t bother to look down—instead keeping his revolver trained on the man that had appeared out of nowhere, with apparently complete disregard for the devil’s trap he’s standing on.

 

Anna just groans, sinking her head on her hand.

“Speak of the devil,” she mutters.

Dean frowns.

“Hey. That’s offensive.”

 

Zeke backs up, eyeing Dean warily.

“D-demon? That’s a demon?” He stutters out. “How the hell—we got this place warded down to the last floorboard, you—“

“Calm down, dude,” Dean says, twirling his finger. Like film in reverse, Zeke’s beer puts itself back together and flies up to Dean’s hand, completely intact. He holds it out to Zeke.

“Not from Hell. Think...the opposite direction.”

 

Zeke doesn’t take it. He looks Dean up and down, utterly confused. Dean eyes him too, leaning back.

“Huh. Déjà vu.”

 

Zeke glances at Anna briefly, before turning back to Dean.

“What?” He says, bristling. Dean shrugs.

“Nothin’," he says, setting the bottle down on the counter. "Just look like a prophet I used to know."

“Prophet?” Zeke repeats dumbly. Anna sighs.

“Dean, this is Ezekiel. Zeke, Dean.”

 

Dean gives a little salute, before pulling open the door to the fridge, very rudely raiding it while Zeke just gapes at him. His eyes light up, and he pulls out a couple frozen burritos from the freezer, snapping his fingers to instantly heat them up.

“Yeah, that was when the pyramids were still bein’ built,” he says as he sits next to Anna, peeling one open. “You’re a dead ringer, man. Name was Gadreel.”

Zeke finally reacts at that, his brows pinching slightly.

“Gadreel? That’s a mouthful.”

Dean stops, glancing up.

“Says the dude whose name is _Ezekiel_.”

Zeke raises his eyebrows. They both turn to Anna, giving her twin looks that say ‘who’s this clown?’

 

Anna props her elbow up on the counter, watching as Dean tears off half the burrito and stuffs it in his mouth.

“So."

She glances at Zeke, who's scowling, tucking his gun back into his belt. She frowns at Dean.

"Why exactly are you here?”

“Ar’you ‘therious?”

Dean swallows, wiping his lips.

“You think I’d just let you run off with every angel in the western hemisphere looking for you?” He scoffs incredulously. “What kind of guardian do you take me for?”

“Um…excuse me.”

Zeke raises a finger.

“Did you say _angels_?”

 

Dean winces.

“Oops.” He glances at Anna. “Should he not know that? Figured everyone would find out eventually.”

Zeke shakes his head a little, as if that could make the whole situation less confusing.

"Anna—“ 

“Should I wipe his mind?” Dean asks, raising a hand.

“The hell you will—“ 

“No, look—“

Anna shoots Dean a glance, and hopes he understands, in that freaky angel way of his. As much as Anna trusted Zeke, she wasn’t sure how he’d react to the news that she had basically kickstarted the apocalypse.

She turns to face Zeke, sighing.

“Long story short, uh—angels are real. And walking amongst us." She inclines her head slightly towards Dean, shrugging one shoulder. "We happened to get a couple on our team.”

Zeke blinks at her for a moment, then opens his mouth and goes to town.

 

 

Dean’s patient enough to answer some of his questions, the typical hunter things—of course Zeke asks about angels’ weaknesses—and Dean answers as truthfully as he can, tactfully being vague about everything else. Eventually Dean starts to shift in his seat (Anna expects it has something to do with him finishing his last burrito), and stands, politely excusing the pair of them and grabbing Anna’s arm, disappearing before Zeke has a chance to respond.

 

Anna whips his hand off, ready to yell at him—when she realizes they haven’t actually left Zeke’s house—Anna recognizes the sickly flowery wallpaper of the spare room. Dean walks over, quietly shutting the door.

“Anna, seriously.”

 

He turns around, his tone gentle.

“What were you thinking? Running off like that?”

Anna grits her teeth.

“God, Dean, don’t lecture me—“

“I’m not lecturing. I just wanna know you’re alright.”

She lets out a bitter laugh, flopping down on the bed.

 

“Look, I know you think the sun shines out of Cas’s ass, but he can be a real dick sometimes,” she mutters, rubbing her hands over the tops of her thighs. “We fight all the time. We’ll be pissed at each other for a while, then we'll get over it. Nothing to get your wings in a knot about.”

“I just—“

“I already got Cas and Gabe mothering me,” she snaps. “Don’t you start, too.”

Dean’s quiet. Anna glances up at him, expecting him to shoot a quick retort back. But he’s just looking at her, his face filled with concern.

“I won’t. Seriously,” he says. “I know you can take care of yourself.”

 

She blinks at him.

“Really?” She shifts, pulling her legs up, hugging her knees to her chest. “Just like that?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Been watching you your whole life. You think I don’t know how badass you are?”

Anna bites her lip, looking down.

 

“Shut up,” she mutters, but she’s smiling.

Dean sticks his hands in his pockets, a tentative smile on his face too.

“Hey.”

 

She looks up. Dean shrugs.

“Be careful, okay?” 

Anna nods, a strange burning in her throat. 

“Yeah. You...you too.”

 

Dean smiles. He leans down, and gives her a quick kiss on the temple.

“Watch yourself, kiddo.”

 

And then he’s gone.

 

 

x

 

 

 

Castiel shifts his laptop off his lap in frustration, rubbing his eyes.

His search had turned up nothing. They had found Gabe’s car just outside Memphis, but after that, zilch.

“Cripe, Anna,” he mutters to himself. Running off when every angel in Heaven is looking for her. Has she got no goddamn sense?

 

_Cas?_

 

Castiel bolts upright. But the motel room is the same around him. Still dark. Still empty. The only movement is the soft flutter of the curtains with the breeze outside.

“Who’s there?”

 

Castiel draws his gun from his belt. He waits, everything in him heightened and on edge.

 

_Easy, Callahan. Put the gun away._

 

Castiel abruptly stops. He cocks his head in the silence, looking around.

“Dean?”

 

_You don’t have to speak out loud, dumbass._

 

Castiel blinks.

“You’re in—“

He stops, and swallows.

_You’re in my head?_

_Bingo._

Castiel is still for a moment, then lets out a long breath, laughing on the tail end of it.

_You know, this would have been really useful to know before._

_Shut up. This is kind of a one-time deal. Emergency-use only._

Castiel sobers.

_Yeah?_

It’s strange, even through this mental link, he can almost hear Dean’s sigh, the weariness in his voice.

 

_Found Anna._

 

Castiel’s heart leaps.

_You—where? Where is she?_

_Can’t tell you that._

_What—why the hell not—_

_Cas, we don’t know who could be listening._

Castiel pauses.

_What?_

_Think of this as radio waves. Anyone can tune in._

Castiel falls silent.

 _Oh,_ he says eventually.

 _Yeah_ , Dean says grimly. _So minimum on the information. Sorry._

_No, it’s—I mean, yeah. Definitely better safe than sorry._

_Just wanted you to know._

 

Castiel sighs.

_Been worried sick._

_You two are the stubbornest humans I know._

_We’re the only humans you know._

_Yeah. Still._

 

It’s silent. Castiel picks at his fingers.

_So. What do you think of this Zeke dude?_

Castiel groans.

_Zeke? That’s where—of course, I should’ve guessed—_

_Cas, shut up._

_Oh, shit._

Castiel winces.

_Minimum information, my bad._

 

_You’d be a crappy secret agent._

_Look who’s talking, 007._

_But seriously_ , Dean says, after a minute. _What do you think?_

Castiel thinks about it.

_He’s a good man. Really. A lot of hunters aren’t the most trustworthy…but Ezekiel is. Hannah too. You can trust them._

Dean hums a brief assent.

_Gotcha. Just...kinda wary of everyone right now, y’know?_

Castiel snorts.

_I know. But considering Anna’s gigantic crush on Zeke, I should have guessed she’d end up there, eventually._

 

_Wait, oh—_

Dean is dumbfounded.

_What? Seriously??_

_God, yeah—ever since we were kids. Our parents always joked they’d get married one day._

_Over my dead body,_ Dean grumbles.

 

Castiel sobers. He’s glad Anna’s alright, but he’s still kicking himself over what he said to her.

_But she’s okay? Really?_

_Yeah. Just give her a few days to cool off._

 

He can almost imagine Dean’s smile.

_I gotta hand it to you Remingtons. When you fight, you really fuckin’ fight._

_Bite me._

_Hmm. Maybe next time I see you._

Castiel bites his lip.

 

_Dean…_

_Fuck, I miss you,_ Dean whispers.

 _Me too,_ Castiel says softly.

 

_I’ll see you soon okay? Promise. Me and Sam are working on this blade, but I’m gonna try and come to the cabin. And then I’ll show you just how much I miss you._

Castiel groans, rubbing his face with his hands.

_You fucker. I’m so frustrated right now._

Dean goes silent for a moment.

 

_I’m sorry, Cas. I gotta go._

Castiel swallows.

 _Probably won’t be able to contact you like this again_ , Dean says tentatively.

_No, I get it. It’s alright._

 

Dean is hesitant.

_See you soon. ‘Kay?_

_Yeah. Can’t wait._

_Bye, Cas._

"Bye," Castiel whispers to the empty room.

 

x

 

Zeke’s squaring up at the register when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He slides it out, squinting at the number.

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Castiel.”

“Oh.”

 

Zeke swallows, glancing over at Anna, where she’s talking to Hannah at the table.

“H—hi, Cas. Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“Uh huh,” Castiel says flatly.

Zeke tucks his wallet back into his jacket, shifting nervously.

“What’s up?” He asks, trying for casual and failing completely.

 

“Just wanted to tell you.”

Castiel pauses, then just flat-out says it.

“Do not underestimate my sister,” he says. “She can, and will kill you, if you ever do a thing to hurt her.”

“Um.”

Zeke clears his throat.

“Duly noted.”

 

Castiel hangs up without another word.

 

x

 

 

The witches are dealt with more or less painlessly. Having three really helped, but Zeke somehow managed to get his wrist broken. Getting thrown into a wall might do that to you.

He drives one handed to the bus station, waving off all her offers to take a taxi. It's been about a week now, and Anna feels like she’s let Cas sweat enough. He better have a hell of an apology for her.

 _Though_ , she thinks bitterly. _I probably owe him one, too._

 

 

Zeke pulls up to the drop off zone, and Anna grabs her bag, going to open the door.

“Hey, um. Listen. If you…if you need me, or Hannah…” 

Anna pauses, one hand on the door handle.

“Thanks, but uh…I think we’re good,” she says quietly. She aches to tell him the truth, but she’s already screwed up so much. She doesn’t need to put Zeke in danger too.

“Anna, seriously.”

Zeke kills the engine, turning to face her.

“I know you and your brother always manage to get mixed up in the big stuff…and I know this is probably way above my pay grade, but…”

Zeke trails off, flicking his eyes up to meet hers.

“I’m here for you,” he says softly. “You know that, right?”

 

Anna nods slowly.

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I do.”

“We got your back," he says, smiling. "Always.”

Anna smiles too.

“Thanks, Zeke.”

 

He leans forward and gives her an awkward hug goodbye, trying to avoid jostling his cast. When he pulls back, there's a moment where it looks like he wants to say something else.

Anna quickly clears her throat and gets out of the car before she changes her mind. Her hand lingers for a moment on the handle.

She closes her eyes briefly. No. She can’t keep pretending the apocalypse isn’t right around the fucking corner.

 

“Anna.”

She looks up. Zeke smiles at her through the window.

“Don’t let another three years pass before we see each other again, alright?”

In spite of herself, Anna smiles back.

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel jiggles his knee as he sits on the bed, biting at his nails. Anna had finally called.

They found a motel, closest one they could find to the bus depot she's supposed to get into, and Gabriel's bringing her back now. When they checked in, there had only been two left in the entire place—one double and one single with a king size bed, which he and Gabe had flipped a coin for, and Castiel had triumphantly won. He’s kinda glad. Still not sure how mad Anna is. She probably doesn’t want to share a room with him.

 

He hears a car engine in the parking lot, and he bolts up, going for the door. He goes outside, just as she’s getting out, looking tired. But no worse for the wear. 

“Hey,” he says, breathless.

“Hey,” Anna says stiffly back.

 

Gabriel coughs.

“I’ll, uh—I’ll be inside.”

He gives Castiel a look over Anna’s shoulder, then heads to the room next door.

 

Castiel drags his eyes back to his sister. Anna crosses her arms, avoiding his eyes.

 

“I’m still pissed at you.”

He weirdly wants to laugh.

“Same.”

 

Castiel rubs the back of his neck, trying to work up his courage.

“Look, just—don’t do that kinda stuff anymore. No spells. Just don’t do it. Please.”

Anna looks down, kicking at the gravel of the parking lot.

“Yeah, I know,” she mutters. “It was just an idea. A bad one.”

“Understatement,” Castiel says awkwardly.

 

Anna’s quiet for a minute, still not looking at him.

“And...can you stop freaking out all the time?”

“What?”

 

She shrugs.

“I don’t know. You just seem…more on edge?” She finally looks up, her voice small. “I can take care of myself. You worry about you for a change.”

Castiel drops his eyes, giving a brief laugh.

“Should we agree to just be…less shitty, then?”

 

A slight smile creeps onto Anna's face.

“Sounds good.”

 

Castiel smiles too, relief relaxing some of the tension in his spine.

 

She glances over her shoulder.

“Don’t mean to crash on you, but I’m beat.” She rubs her face. “Gabe said something about takeout?”

Castiel nods quickly.

“Yeah. I can go grab something. No problem.”

She smiles.

“Thanks, Cas.”

 

She goes inside, and Castiel exhales. Well. It's a start. Neither of them have really ever been good at apologizing, but this…well. It's something.

 

Castiel pulls his keys out of his pocket, feeling better than he has in days. He heads around the corner to where the Impala is parked, but stops abruptly when he sees someone—standing by its side, peering intently through the window.

He drops his hand to his pocket, feeling the top of his gun. The weight is comforting.

 

He slowly steps up behind her, clearing his throat.

“Can I help you?”

 

The woman doesn’t look at him.

“Quite a distinctive car you have here,” she says conversationally. 

Castiel freezes.

 

She turns, locking eyes with him.

“Could take a girl all sorts of places.”

 

 

Castiel tries to pull his gun, but in an instant she’s got a hand around his throat, pinning him against the wall.

She smiles at him, teeth flashing in the afternoon light.

 

“Hello again. Castiel.”

 

x

 

 

Dean hits the ground, kneeling into a crouch, his wings folding back around him and fading into nothing. It’s quiet.

Castiel had prayed to him, but then there was terror—his voice screaming in his head, visions of a pretty face with wild eyes—

There’s a noise from behind him and he spins, the blade sliding out of his sleeve as he brings it up, ready to strike.

 

He follows the line of the arm holding its own blade, up to the face of the angel now staring at him with a poisonous expression.

Dean catches sight of Cas lying in the corner, unconscious. His stomach clenches.

He turns back to her simpering smile, and his body pulses with anger.

 

“Bela.”

She smirks, circling around him.

“Dean.” 

 

He straightens, clenching his fingers around the handle of the knife.

“Long time no see.”

Bela looks him up and down, her eyes dark.

“And what a shame that is,” she sneers, licking her lips. “Thought we could have been friends, Dean.” She fixes those darting eyes on him again. “Maybe even something more.”

Dean snarls.

“You wish.”

Bela laughs.

“Oh, Dean, sweetie. This new vessel of yours is attractive, but I think I rather preferred your old one.”

 

Dean matches her steps, silently planning his attack.

“Why are you here, Bela?”

 

They move opposite each other, never breaking eye contact.

“Thought Lilith kept you on a pretty tight leash,” he sneers.

“She’s much too busy now to deal with petty matters such as this,” she says airily, twirling her blade deftly in her fingers. “But she is angry with you, Dean,” she simpers. “Very angry.”

Dean forces a laugh.

“So she sends a fucking lackey after me?” His lip curls. “She must want to get rid of you.”

Bela’s eyes narrow. Dean glances at Cas’s motionless form, his heart pounding.

"Look."

 

He lifts his blade slightly, holding up his other hand.

“Walk away, Bela. Heaven stopped gunning for me a long time ago.”

She tilts her head.

“Maybe.”

She grins, her smile triumphant.

“But when I serve you up to Lilith on a plate, I will be rewarded in ways you cannot imagine.”

Dean tears his eyes away from Cas.

“Going against orders, huh?” He asks. “Guess old habits die hard.”

Her smile fades.

“I will not make that mistake again,” she seethes.

“Shame,” Dean retorts. “Thought you might have finally grown a conscience.”

 

Bela’s face contorts, and she comes to a halt, snarling at him.

“Have you forgotten who you serve?” She hisses. “A few years down on the ground and you’re ready to throw it all away—”

She gestures violently.

“And for what? For a _human_?”

She scoffs, her voice cold.

“What a waste.”

 

Dean stares at her, hatred pulsing in his blood. She straightens slowly, a twisted smile spreading across her face.

“You had your chance, Dean,” she says softly.

 

She lunges suddenly, slicing at his neck, but he dodges—she whirls again, hair flying as she spins and throws him back. Dean falls hard, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Bela lets out a short burst of a laugh.

“Oh, you never could beat me, could you? Too damn _honorable_ —“

He flips up just in time, but she’s already there, her arm quick and deft. Dean parries and strikes back, shoving against her.

 

“Come on, Dean,” she sneers, laughing in his face. “You’re making this too easy.”

Dean digs in his heels, struggling against her.

“You talk too much,” he snaps.

 

He shoves Bela back, almost sending her sprawling. She growls, flipping up her blade, silver flashing dangerously in the light.

They exchange hard blows, metal clanging as they meet each other, again and again.

Dean whirls and lets his guard down for a brief moment—and Bela seizes at the opportunity, spinning him around and twisting his wrist. The blade slips out of his hand, clattering to the floor. Dean gasps as she pins him down, the sharp edge of silver pressing into his neck.

“All of Heaven looking for you,” she breathes, towering triumphantly above him. “And I’m the one who claims the prize.”

 

She digs the blade into his skin, and Dean snarls, feeling it scrape his flesh.

“All I had to do was to put a scratch on your precious human, and you come running,” she sneers, leaning down close.

“He’s so…” She licks her lips, eyeing Castiel from out of the corner of her eye. “Breakable.”

Dean boils, thrusting up against the grip.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, baring his teeth.

Bela laughs cruelly, ignoring him.

 

“Such base creatures,” she murmurs, tracing the blade up to his chin. Dean fixes her with a murderous stare.

“Rolling around in the dirt, destroying, killing, fucking…” She presses the point of the blade into his cheek, just short of drawing blood.

“They’re more like…” She purses her lips. “Toys.”

Dean moves almost imperceptibly, his fingers curling around the edge of her sleeve. She doesn’t notice, and just presses in closer.

“And you gave everything for them. Pathetic.”

 

Bela’s too busy monologuing to notice as Dean slips a hand around, slowly, as she continues to whisper empty threats in his ears.

“I’ll hand you over to Lilith,” she murmurs, eyes blazing with her assumed victory.

“And without you around, it’s only a matter a time before we have Anna.”

She smiles.

“And then I’ll kill your human myself.”

 

Dean snarls and yanks at her arm—and she’s jerked off of him. Bela recovers quickly, rolling up and sending her blade whirling towards his neck—but Dean shoots a hand up, and catches it just in time. She snarls in surprise as Dean wrenches it from her grip, throwing it across the room. He hisses, his grace shining through the slit in the meat of his skin.

 

Bela scrambles after her weapon, but Dean hits her, sending her flying, and she crashes into the wall. He’s there in an instant—seizing her roughly and slamming her to the floor.

 

“If you fuck with Castiel,” he pants, hands tightening around her neck. “That means you fuck with me.”

 

Dean reaches a hand out, his silver blade flying into his hand. He presses it to Bela's neck, their positions now reversed.

“How does it feel?” he hisses. She shakes her head, pleading silently.

“ _How does it feel?_ ” He yells again.

 

Bela swallows, her eyes desperate.

“Please,” she gasps. “Dean, please.”

 

Dean stares down at her, his eyes twisted in hatred. But his grip loosens, and she places a hand to her throat, gasping.

 

 

 

But he’s already gone, along with the human, and she’s left alone in the dark.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

 

 

“Cas? _Cas!_ ”

 

 

Castiel blinks open his eyes. Dean’s face slides into focus, his voice panicked.

“Don’t you leave me—“

Dean’s shaking him, his grip tight and painful.

“Don’t you fucking do this, Cas—don’t do this to me, not again—“

Castiel sees the terrified gaze Dean’s giving him, and tries to sit up, reaching for his cheek.

“Dean,” he whispers.

“ _Cas_ —“

Dean grabs his face, eyes wild and desperate.

“Cas, baby—you hearing me?”

Castiel squeezes his hand, giving him a weak nod.

 

 

Dean deflates in relief, crushing him into a bone-breaking hug. Castiel whimpers.

 

“Dean—“ he gasps. “Can’t breathe—"

“Shit, sorry—“

Dean releases him, but his touch is slick, slippery. Castiel catches his wrist.

“You’re hurt,” he says, frowning.

Dean tries to pull away.

“It’s nothing, Cas.” He tugs at Castiel's grip. “You’re okay.”

Castiel holds tight to Dean's wrist.

“Dean,” he says firmly. “Stop.”

 

Dean stills, silent as Castiel pulls his arm closer, examining the cut.

“You can’t heal this?” He asks, glancing at him. Dean is looking at the floor, his face tired.

“Angel blade. Can’t heal anything caused by that,” he explains, sighing.

Castiel nods, then slowly pushes himself up. He’s a little wobbly, but he masks it. Bela had only fucked with his mind, sending pain through his body without actually touching him. And right now, Dean needs to be looked after. Dean needs him.

He had flashed them back into his room, so Castiel pulls him up gently and tugs him over to the table, sitting Dean down opposite him.

“Cas, you don’t have to—“

“Dean,” he warns.

Dean quiets and lets Castiel examine his hand, then clean his skin and wind a bandage around the wound.

 

Neither of them speak as Castiel works, but finally Dean breaks the silence, the hesitation clear on his face.

 

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

 

Castiel glances up.

“For what?”

Dean refuses to look at him.

“She wouldn’t have gone after you if not for me,” he whispers, shaking his head. “It’s...it's my fault.”

“Jesus, can you—“

Castiel’s grip involuntarily tightens around his wrist, and Dean darts a glance up at him, confused.

“Can you stop apologizing to me all the time?”

Castiel clenches his jaw, trying to figure out what he wants to say.

“Stop telling me it’s dangerous, that it’s your fault, because I want this—I chose this, I chose _you_ , and if it bothered me I would fucking tell you, okay? Shit—“

Dean clasps his hand, stopping him.

“Hey.”

 

Castiel inhales.

“Cas, I’m—“ Dean shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

 

He looks down, then slips his fingers through Castiel’s.

“I missed you,” he says shyly.

Castiel rubs the back of Dean's newly bandaged hand, finishing it with some tape.

“I missed you, too.”

 

Dean leans forward, his uninjured hand coming up to find the back of Castiel’s neck. He closes his eyes.

“I can’t stay away from you,” Dean murmurs, and Castiel melts into him, curling a hand into the front of his shirt.

“I can’t, Cas, dammit.”

Dean sighs, his thumb stroking softly over his skin.

“Fuck Heaven, fuck all of that. I’d rather have you.”

Castiel gently finds his lips.

“Me too.”

 

Dean tugs him into his arms, and they sink into the kiss, their first in weeks. But Castiel can sense the tiredness scorching through Dean, and he sighs, reluctantly pulling back. There’s a small smudge of dirt on Dean’s cheek, and Castiel wipes it away, speaking softly.

“Your hand’ll be okay?”

Dean looks down, rubbing his knuckles.

“Yeah. It’ll take a day or two, but I’ll be fine.”

Castiel kisses him again, once, before he stands, gathering up the extra scraps of bandage and trashing them. He comes back to place a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“What do you need?" Castiel asks gently. Dean wraps an arm around him, leaning a cheek against Castiel's hip.

“Just you,” he mumbles.

 

Castiel nods, rubbing his arm soothingly.

“Do you…want to sleep?”

Dean looks up at him.

“Sleep?” There’s a hint of humor in his voice.

Castiel shrugs.

“I know you don’t have to, but maybe it’ll help. Make you feel better.”

Dean frowns, his brow furrowed in a sort of endearing confusion.

“I’ve never slept before.”

Castiel snorts, reaching out to mess up his hair.

“You passed out that one time.”

Dean scowls, batting Castiel's hand away.

“Doesn’t count.”

Castiel laughs.

“Come on. It really is all it’s cracked up to be.” He kicks off his shoes and leads Dean over to the bed, pulling the sheets back.

“And bonus, you get to sleep with me.”

 

Dean snorts, but he willingly sinks down onto the mattress, curling up on his side. He watches silently as Castiel pulls off his layers, until he’s down to just his t-shirt.

Castiel feels something strange as Dean’s eyes settle on him. It’s not like the frenzied strip that had preceded most of their times together. This is something altogether more intimate. More holy.

 

 

Castiel slides in beside him, and Dean slips an arm around his waist, tugging him in. Despite his inexperience, Dean readily closes his eyes, heaving a sigh. Castiel pulls up the sheets around them, just looking at his face. Dean looks so worn and tired.

Castiel watches him for a moment, thinking. Treating that slight curl of grace in Dean’s skin had reminded him of something, something he had been worrying about for the past three months.

 

“Dean?” Castiel asks softly, wondering if he’s already asleep. But after a moment, Dean answers him.

“Yeah?”

“Dean…the real Dean,” Castiel says, tapping his chest. “Is he…”

Dean opens his eyes.

“Gone,” he says softly. “It’s just me in here now.”

Castiel closes his eyes, processing.

“He’s dead.”

Dean nods solemnly.

“Ever since they…sent me back,” he whispers.

 

Castiel exhales slowly, not wanting to remember.

“But he’s in Heaven?”

Dean shifts a little.

“Yeah.”

Castiel sighs.

“Good.”

Dean turns, moving in closer, and Castiel folds him into his arms, leaning his cheek against Dean's back. He can feel the tension in Dean's shoulders, but he doesn’t know how to soothe him. Castiel settles for silence, just giving him the comfort of his touch.

“I never should have gotten him into this,” Dean whispers.

Castiel doesn’t answer. He doesn’t think he can.

 

They lie still for a minute, just breathing.

 

 

 

“So,” Castiel says, after a moment. “What’s your real name?”

 

Dean laughs a little.

“Thought we were supposed to be sleeping.”

“Shut up, I’m curious.”

Dean chuckles again, the roll of his laughter humming through them.

“My name…” He snorts. “My name is old, and ancient, and it sucks.”

Castiel nudges him with his forehead.

“Come on.”

He presses a kiss to the back of Dean's neck, running a hand down his arm.

“Can I hear it?” 

Dean huffs, but turns over, pressing his lips to Castiel's ear. He whispers something that sounds like a very long jumbled stream of consonants, and Castiel frowns, trying to repeat it.

“Io-kah-tin-na…”

Dean snorts.

“Yeah, don’t even try to pronounce it.” He noses Castiel's cheek. “Stick with Dean.”

 

Castiel laughs, scootching up closer and twisting a hand into Dean's hair. Dean closes his eyes, a small smile on his face.

“I’ve had too many names,” he sighs. Castiel can barely hear him as he continues to mumble into the pillow.

“Definitely like Dean, though…it’s a good one.” He shifts, absentmindedly stroking Castiel’s back as he continues to ramble on.

“Dean…” He murmurs sleepily. “From the Middle English. Meaning…chief,” he tells the sheets.

Castiel tugs on his hair a little.

“I am not calling you chief."

Dean cracks open an eye.

“Oh,” he whispers. “Is that so?”

 

He drags the tips of his fingers up Castiel's side, and Castiel jerks back, laughing.

“Maybe I can change your mind.”

Dean tickles him with his undamaged hand until Castiel is unable to breathe, tangled in his arms and struggling to get away.

“Stop, _stop_ , you bastard—“

Castiel finally grabs Dean's shirt and rolls him over, straddling his hips and successfully pinning him down. Dean growls playfully but Castiel shoves him back to the mattress, shaking his head.

“For an angel, you’re kind of a dick," he says, smiling.

Dean just smirks, twisting his hips a little.

 

Castiel raises an eyebrow.

Well. If that’s how Dean wants to play it.

 

Castiel leans down, barely brushing Dean’s lips with his own. Dean tries to arch up and kiss him, but Castiel pulls back at the last second, rolling his hips forward once for good measure, delighting in the mumbled curses that follow.

Castiel lowers himself again, running a teasing finger over Dean's bottom lip.

“And Sam?” He whispers.

Dean almost whines as Castiel rocks his hips again.

“He hasn’t been in that body for long, but that’s always been his name,” Dean rushes out, hands fumbling to touch him.

Castiel rewards him with a soft kiss.

“Mmm.”

 

Dean curves up and his tongue slips in to meet Castiel's, exploring him and coaxing him down. Castiel forgets he’s trying to be the suave one as Dean deepens the kiss, gently tugging at his hold. Castiel lets him slip loose and Dean wraps his arms around Castiel's waist, pulling him closer. After a moment, they break from each other’s lips, just breathing against each other.

Castiel drifts his hands back over Dean’s chest, over his sides and his stomach.

“Well…I have to say,” he murmurs, smiling slightly. “I happen to like this body.”

“Yeah?” Dean tugs at his shirt. “You sure you don’t want me to get you a sexy blonde?”

Castiel laughs, but shakes his head, one hand coming up to brush Dean's temple and curl into his hair.

“No, this is you,” he says. “This is how I always want to know you.”

Dean catches his hand, bringing it to his lips.

“You got it,” he murmurs.

 

 

 

A thought suddenly hits him and Castiel tilts his head, sitting back.

“Huh.”

“What?” 

 

Castiel shrugs, tapping his fingers against the line of Dean's collarbone.

“Dunno. It’s just weird to think I’ve never really seen you.”

Dean laughs, hands finding his hips.

“Not much to see.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“I doubt that.”

 

They fall quiet for a moment. Castiel lowers one hand, tracing patterns along the inside of Dean's arm.

“Well,” he admits, after a moment. “Almost never.”

 

Dean sits up a little.

“Say what now?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

Castiel snorts.

“Um. Well.”

He smirks.

“Just to let you know, your grace tends to freak out a bit when you’re, uh…” He pokes Dean's chest. “Excited.”

“Excited.” Dean repeats.

Castiel bites his lip to keep from laughing.

“In a state of high emotional distress?” He offers up, grinning.

“High emotional distress—“ Dean gives him a look. “Seriously?”

Castiel raises his hands.

“Hey, I’m just telling you what I saw.”

Dean scoffs, but Castiel crawls forward, one hand curling around Dean's chin, tipping his face up.

 

“Alas, O Lord God…” He murmurs, barely skimming Dean's lips. “For now I have seen an angel of the Lord face to face…”

Dean laughs, but indulges him, kissing Castiel in between words.

“Quoting the Bible now?” Dean props himself up onto one elbow, a hand finding Castiel's waist. “I think we’re edging on blasphemous here.”

Castiel sighs into the kiss.

“Mmf—don’t care.”

Dean slides his hand over Castiel’s hip and into his back pocket.

“Well…not surprised, to be honest.”

 

He finds the edge of Castiel's jaw with his lips, alternating kisses and words into the line of his skin.

“Grace…it’s like a nuke if it’s not handled properly.” Dean nips at Castiel’s throat, quickly soothing it with his tongue. “Can take out a whole block if it gets out of the vessel,” Dean murmurs quietly, now mouthing down his neck.

“This isn’t… “

Castiel groans.

“This isn’t exactly the most titillating of conversations—“

Dean rocks up against him so sharply Castiel gasps, seizing his shoulders.

“ _Fuck_.”

“Maybe we should change the subject,” Dean murmurs, eyes dark and heated.

 

Castiel lets out a soft moan, fingers grabbing uselessly at the sheets when Dean thrusts his hips again. Castiel hunches over, panting hard in his ear. Dean grabs the backs of his thighs and Castiel straddles his waist, groaning as Dean slows, pulling back from his lips.

“Yeah, Cas,” he murmurs, tipping his head towards his own. “Just like that, shit—“

Dean cuts off as Castiel reaches a hand down, dragging over the hardness in his pants, before retreating, fingering the lapels of his shirt, tugging at them slightly.

 

Dean sucks at his neck, just the barest hint of teeth reaching out to scrape at Castiel’s collarbone, breathing heavy against his skin. His smell is all tangled up in his nose, deep earth and wet moonlight hissing in his ears as Dean touches him.

Castiel finds his hands and twists their fingers together, pressing his arms above his head, rocking slowly. The long press of his body is weirdly firm and soft and comforting all at once, and Castiel is content to just stay like this, to have Dean in his arms forever.

 

But Dean seems to have other ideas, because he wrenches him up and around, and they nearly fall over, Castiel laughing as Dean kisses him in earnest now, hands feeling him up, under his clothes, fumbling at buttons and they’re whirling, hot and sweet and—

 

 

The door bangs open. Castiel yelps and rolls away from the light, yanking the sheets up around them. Dean is slightly less graceful and actually falls off the bed, slamming to the floor.

 

Gabriel is standing in the doorway, eyes like saucers, a look of wicked glee quickly spreading across his face.

Castiel is glad the sheet is covering him, holy shit—

“Gabe—what the _fuck_.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

 

He smirks, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Castiel stares daggers at him.

“What do you want?”

“ _Well_.”

Gabriel fires back his trademark smile.

“I heard there was something about takeout. Gotta say—little bit confused on how this qualifies.”

Castiel groans, sinking his head on his hand. Crap. He totally forgot.

“Didn’t realize we’d be having company. Suppose we’ll just have to go out now.”

Gabriel glances over to where Dean’s poked his head over the edge of the bed, hair disheveled and sticking up every which way.

“I guess Dean can take a night off from running for his life and join us. Hope you’ve, uh…”

He smirks.

“Worked up an appetite.”

Castiel gapes at him. Dean, for once, is at a loss for words.

 

Gabriel dips out with a wave of fingers.

“Be ready in ten!” he sings, slamming the door shut behind him. Castiel glares at the offending door, shaking his head.

“Asshole,” he mutters.

“I’m going to smite him, I swear,” Dean grumbles as he climbs back onto the bed, trying to calm his hair. Castiel groans again and leans forward, pressing his face into the sheets.

 

“Ugh. Dinner.”

Dean pokes him.

“C’mon, angel.”

“Don’t wanna.” He says, his voice muffled against the cotton. Dean nudges him with his knee.

“You put on a good face for dinner, and I’ll definitely make it up to you afterwards.”

Castiel rolls over, grinning.

“That a promise?”

Dean leans down, brushing his lips with a quick kiss.

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

x

 

 

Dinner is excruciating.

 

It’s pretty relaxed, given that Castiel and Anna are still hesitant around each other, trying to repair the burned bridges. Castiel made Dean promise not to tell about Bela, seeing as it would only worry them—and hey, he was fine now, so no reason to bring it up. Dean soberly agreed, then proceeded to make it his personal mission to torment Castiel all throughout dinner.

Dean’s hand drags up his knee to the inside of his thigh, and Castiel grips his fork, steeling himself. He’s not going to let Dean win this one.

Anna and Gabriel’s conversation seems to drone on incessantly, and Castiel is hyperaware of everything—Dean’s little touches under the table, the skim of his fingers against his as he reaches for the menu, his hot breath when he whispers in his ear—It sends an electric buzz vibrating through his skin at every point of contact. Part of him thinks Dean’s even messing with him on purpose, using his grace to twist at his insides and send all the blood rushing south.

So Castiel nearly chokes when Dean starts inching his pants down his hips, dragging a finger over the bared skin. He fumbles, grabbing his wrist, shooting him a nasty glare. Dean doesn’t even look at him. He’s got this ridiculous expression on his face, nodding enthusiastically at a point Anna’s just made, innocent as you please.

Castiel growls, smacking him under the table.

The only hint that something less than wholesome is going on is a slight upturn at the corners of Dean’s mouth as he draws his hand back.

He props his elbow on the table, leaning forward to add something to the conversation. Castiel smirks.

Two can play that game.

 

He slides his hand over, hovering just over his knee. Then he slides up, abruptly grabbing him through his jeans.

Dean jerks forward, his left hand digging gouges in the table.

Anna and Gabriel stare at him.

 

Dean bites his lip, desperately trying to slide back into a straight face.

“I mean—Jesus—werewolves, right? Am I right?”

Anna raises an eyebrow. Gabriel covers his mouth, sniggering.

Castiel can barely contain his triumphant smirk, Dean’s cheeks flushed to an inviting shade of red.

Eventually, the waitress comes back and distracts the two of them, and Dean tugs him in close, dipping down to whisper in his ear.

“You’re gonna pay for that, Remington,” he growls.

Castiel just slips his hand under his shirt as an answer. Dean draws in a sharp breath.

“Can’t wait.”

 

 

 

After a hasty goodnight at the junction of their two rooms—and a hollow and completely not believed excuse about Dean flashing away to go find Sam—they get into Castiel’s room again, and he makes damn sure he locks the door this time.

Dean straight up tackles him and pins him to the floor, kissing him everywhere.

“You are the worst—“

He fumbles, pulling Castiel’s boots off sharply and yanking his legs up around him, leaning down to suck at his neck.

“Thought I was going to have to fuck you on that restaurant table,” he groans out.

Castiel laughs, wrapping his arms around him.

“You should have.”

 

Dean hums, teeth scraping gently against his skin, and Castiel arches, torn halfway between a moan and a laugh.

“De—Dean, I’m—“

His breath hitches slightly as Dean’s hands move down, tugging at the zipper on his jeans. Castiel wrenches his mind back to sanity.

“I’m so disappointed,” he manages to get out.

Dean pauses briefly in his mission of stripping Castiel of all his clothes.

“What?” He growls.

 

Castiel bites his lip, stubbornly remaining silent, now that he’s got his attention. Dean smiles devilishly, dropping down and rocking forward.

Castiel breathes in sharply in spite of himself, tipping his head back and baring his throat to Dean’s wandering mouth.

“Oh, Castiiiiiellll,” he murmurs, hovering his lips over his skin. “Don’t make me read your mind.”

Castiel bites his lip, shaking his head.

Dean rolls forward again and starts pressing kisses down the line of his neck, murmuring softly.

“Come on,” he whispers. “You can tell me.”

“Y—you—“

Castiel is unable to finish the sentence as Dean moves down his body, sucking marks into his chest, his side, his stomach.

“You said…never—“

He groans as Dean bites into the soft skin of his hip.

“Never make the first move,” he gasps out, barely containing his laugh.

 

Dean pauses, his laugh huffing out against Castiel’s skin.

“Wow.”

He props his chin up on his stomach, smiling up at him.

“Really?”

Castiel slips his hands down, curling into his hair.

“Really.”

He tugs him up, and Dean grins as Castiel tries to shove the jacket from his shoulders while also kissing him, and they almost fall over, tangled in sleeves and zippers.

“Too many fucking clothes—“ Castiel grunts, finally throwing the thing to the floor, and Dean laughs, sliding his hands up his sides.

“Let’s get rid of this then.”

Castiel lifts his arms so Dean can take off his shirt, and Dean’s mouth immediately drops to his chest, tugging him close as his lips work over his skin. Castiel hisses in a breath, dropping his head back.

 

He slides his hand to the back of Dean’s neck, pushing his hips down to roll slowly against his. Dean shivers, his hands tightening on his back.

“Cas,” he breathes, pulling his face down to his.

Castiel hums appreciatively, getting lost in the slick slide of his mouth. He fumbles for Dean’s belt, impatient now.

“Cas—“

Dean breaks away from him, breathing heavily.

“I want you—Cas, I want you.”

Castiel sits up, trying to drag him back in.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, come on—“

But Dean catches his cheek, shaking his head.

“No—Cas—I fucking _want_ you,” he shudders out, a hand sliding over his thigh.

“You got me,” Castiel assures him, pulling at the front of his shirt.

“Dammit, Cas—“

Dean stops him.

“Don’t make me ask.”

 

Castiel pulls out of it for a moment, focusing on Dean’s face. He’s staring at the floor, chest heaving.

“Dean.”

He slips a hand under his chin, trying to get him to meet his eyes.

“What?” He asks. “What is it?”

Dean closes his eyes, running his hands up and down Castiel’s back. He takes a deep breath, and looks up.

“I want _you_.”

 

Castiel swallows, realizing.

“You…”

Dean presses up against him again, finding his hands and bringing them to his hips, inviting him to feel his way down.

“I fucking want to feel you, Cas,” he hushes out. “I want to take care of you for once, I want you inside me, shit—“

Dean breaks off, resting his forehead against Castiel’s.

“I want you,” he confesses. “I just want you.”

 

Castiel breaks.

“ _Dean,”_ he murmurs heavily. “Of course, god—“

That’s all the permission Dean needs. He grabs Castiel’s face, kissing him fiercely as he climbs into his lap, grinding down against him.

“Wanted this,” he grits out in between breaths. “For so long, wanted you—“

Castiel snarls his hands up in his hair, adrenaline and fire climbing in his blood. Dean kisses him with that sinning mouth, sliding to his knees in front of him, making Castiel stand and tugging at the belt of his jeans, and Castiel is losing the grip he has on his restraint.

Dean slides his hands up Castiel’s thighs, his lips slightly parted, hot eyes fixed on Castiel’s. He slips a hand down to curve around Dean’s jaw, and he turns into the touch, lips grazing his fingers.

“Gonna make it good, Cas.”

Castiel stares down at him, his naked chest heaving. Dean slowly pushes his jeans and boxers out of the way and takes his cock in his hand, and he sucks in a breath, unable to tear his eyes away.

“So good,” he whispers, before leaning forward.

He strokes him a couple times, pressing feather-light kisses to the base of his cock, then up, his other hand finding the edge of his jeans, fingers curling to scrape at his skin. Castiel tightens the grip on his hair, tipping his head back.

“Shit,” he breathes.

Dean hums back, mouthing down the side of his dick and pressing kisses to the crease of his hip, his thigh, worshipping before him. Castiel bites down on his lip, breathing hard through his nose. Dean leans down, not slowing, and he kisses the skin of his stomach, tracing the curves of his hipbones with his tongue. 

It’s the very best kind of blasphemy. Castiel exhales prayers, his hand tight on Dean’s neck as he rolls his hips forward slightly. Dean hums in approval, mouthing deeper down his cock before pulling off again, kissing at the skin of his hip.

 

It’s good, but Castiel wants him back in his arms—and he pulls Dean up, kissing him deeply, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. Dean hums and melts into him, and Castiel is suddenly filled with an overwhelming wave of _feeling_.

Since that first night, every time they’ve done this has been hard and fast, rushed in a dark space, or in the back of a car. Now they finally have each other, all to themselves, with the whole night ahead of them. Castiel’s going to let himself forget the world for a moment, and focus on this. There’s no apocalypse, no devil, no demons. Just this. Just them.

Castiel breathes gently against him, unable to keep the words back.

“I love you,” he whispers.

 

Dean pulls back a little, almost looking shocked for a second. But then he laughs, those beautiful eyes crinkling with a smile.

“You’re a sentimental sap, you know that?” He murmurs, nudging his forehead with his own.  

Castiel growls playfully.

“And proud of it,” he whispers back, closing his eyes and leaning in for another kiss.

The next thing he knows, the world is upside down.

 

 

“Ahh— _Dean_ —“ Castiel yelps, kicking his legs out.

“Hush,” Dean smirks, slapping his ass.

 Dean has thrown him over his shoulder, and shit—he almost thinks he’s going to fall. But Dean has him, hoisting him up into a ridiculous fireman’s carry. Castiel isn’t exactly light, but hell. Dean was an angel. He could probably lift an anvil if Castiel asked him to.

“You—“

Castiel laughs, pulling at his hair.

“What are you doing?” He asks, halfheartedly struggling.

Dean shakes him.

“You’ll see.”

 

He suddenly flips him and drops him on the bed, grinning down at him. Castiel smiles, grabbing his collar and dragging him down.

 

They somehow manage to strip the rest of Dean’s clothes—despite trying to continue kissing each other all the way through it—and Castiel sits up, about to help him with the rest, but Dean rolls over and straddles him, pushing him back.

“I think I can get your pants off, Remington,” he growls, grabbing his ankles and tugging him closer.

Castiel kicks a little him for that, but Dean makes good on his promise, sliding his hands back up Castiel’s thighs and starting to make his way back up his body. His tongue is soft and melts perfectly in just the right places, like he knows instinctively where to touch and press to make Castiel shiver with anticipation and need, hands grasping at nothing.

It should be embarrassing, how easily Dean breaks him apart—but it’s been too long, and Castiel doesn’t care. He’s greedy, and he wants to have as much of Dean as he can, while he can.

 

 

Dean hitches Castiel’s leg up around him, and props himself up on his hands, perfect and golden above him. He starts to roll his hips forward, finding a gentle rhythm.

Castiel drops his head back, letting out his breath in a groan. Dean takes his time, making sure he’s perfectly relaxed—smoothing his hands gently over his skin, his neck, his collarbones, his chest—that sensitive spot underneath his ribs that they both recently discovered—and finally Dean lowers himself back down, kissing him again.

Castiel reaches up and Dean slips his arms underneath him, wrapping around him and pulling him tight.

Dean nips at his ear, continuing to lazily thrust his hips forward.

“Like that?” He chuckles lowly, grinding lazily against him, the slide slick and perfect and hot against his overheated skin. Castiel whimpers, blindly grabbing at him, clutching him tighter. He can feel the heat pooling in his groin, a fire simmering underneath his skin, spiraling higher and higher, and—

“Dean—“ he tries to warn, but it comes out more like a broken plea.

He just murmurs throatily in response, kissing his temple.

“Dean, you keep that up—and there—“

He gasps, hand grasping at his wrist.

“There won’t be anything else happening— _shit,_ ” he chokes out.

 

Dean laughs, but he doesn’t stop.

“We got time,” he whispers.

 

Castiel growls, seizing Dean’s neck and roughly rolling him over, shoving him back to the pillows. Dean makes a small noise of surprise that’s swallowed as Castiel rocks forward on top of him, capturing his lips and taking control, rolling his hips until Dean is the one panting, clinging to Castiel.

Castiel tugs at his bottom lip, teasing him and making Dean groan, his hand sliding down to grip his cock, giving it a few firm strokes. He tugs him close, and Dean arches up into him, Castiel biting gently at his skin, Dean’s hot breath in his ear, arms locked around his neck. Castiel strokes him once more before teasing lower, brushing down, and—

Castiel pulls up slightly, and Dean almost whines.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks breathlessly, hand curling around his bicep. Castiel clears his throat, catching his breath.

“I don’t have any—um.”

Dean frowns, then his face flickers with understanding.

“Ah.”

He twirls his hand, and a small bottle appears, dangling from his fingers.

“Looking for this?” He asks smugly.

Castiel snorts.

“Showoff.”

 

Dean just laughs, reaching up to peck a quick kiss to his lips. Castiel grabs the bottle and fumbles to open it, as Dean curls around him again, leaning into him eagerly.

“C’mon, Cas,” he whispers. “C’mon.”

Castiel slips his arms underneath Dean, shifting him up slightly on the bed, grasping at his thigh. Dean hitches his leg around his waist, fruitlessly thrusting his hips up.

“Cas,” he pants brokenly. “ _Seriously.”_

 

Castiel fumbles for the bottle again, his breath coming hard and short. He slicks up his fingers, his throat suddenly dry. Dean leans into him impatiently, burning hot in his arms.

“Goddammit, Cas, if you’re not going to fucking do it, then—“

He cuts off abruptly, sucking in a breath. Castiel chuckles against his cheek, and starts to circle his finger slowly, opening him up. Dean lets out a soft sound, one hand tangling in Castiel’s hair.

“This okay?” Castiel asks, a little hesitantly. He feels rather than sees Dean’s smile as he mouths against his neck, those sinful lips on his throat.

“Cas, you ain’t gonna break me,” he says gruffly, wiggling his hips slightly, pushing back against him. Castiel huffs, nudging his head as he pushes in further.

When Castiel slips two inside him, Dean turns his head up, moaning a broken _Cas._ He stares up at him, silently asking for a kiss and Castiel obliges, leaning down and pressing their mouths together with a slow kind of urgency, rolling with the rhythm of his breath, the burning heat of his body beneath his hands.

 

Something in Dean snaps.

He crushes Castiel to him, kissing him so fiercely that all the sound dims for a moment, and Castiel is left dazed, barely able to breathe. Dean shoves back from him and flips over, grasping at the sheets.

“Now, Cas, now,” he gasps out. “You won’t hurt me—”

“Dean—“

“God, please, Cas—“

Dean presses his head down into the pillows, his naked body gleaming in the dim light of the room, curving up invitingly to Castiel’s touch. Castiel crawls slowly towards him, his heart pounding.

“Dean,” he murmurs again, sliding a hand over his freckled shoulders, sweat shining on his skin. He moves his other hand down, slipping his fingers inside him again—and Dean makes a little shocked noise, arching back and grabbing the headboard in front of him.

“ _Fuck_.”

Castiel is panting, utterly transfixed by Dean beneath him. He twists his hand and Dean’s breath stutters, his skin glowing slightly, with sweat and with that soft golden light, seeming to shine from the sigils marked in his skin.

Castiel growls, all words lost, wrapping his other arm around him, tucking his head over his shoulder, rocking against him. He sucks bruises into his neck, ones that Dean will be able to wipe away later with a smirk and a flick of his fingers, but now he wants to mark him up, to lay claim to the perfection beneath him that’s groaning and shivering and begging for his touch.

 

Dean reaches back to clutch at his hair, rolling his hips back.

“ _Now,_ ” he breathes.

 

 

 

Castiel stills, closing his eyes for brief moment. He knows Dean is impatient, but he also knows he’s nervous, can read it in the draw of his shoulders, the tremble in his arms, and Castiel takes his time, gently kneading at his back and down to his hips before Dean relaxes beneath him. He exhales slowly. Castiel’s nervous too.

“Cas.”

Dean says his name, soft and pleading. He turns around to meet his eyes.

“Please,” Dean whispers.

 

Castiel moves quickly then, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist, scraping his teeth against his neck. Dean groans, tipping his head back. Castiel slips his hand down, giving his cock a few loose strokes, making Dean duck his head and brace a hand against the headboard, rocking weakly back towards him.

 

He slowly takes himself in hand, pushing up and in, and then—

Dean stiffens a little, his hands tightening briefly on his before he relaxes, closing his eyes. Castiel holds his breath.

They don’t move for a minute, just adjusting to the feeling.

“You okay?” Castiel asks anxiously, smoothing a hand over his back.

Dean lets out a short laugh.

“Way better than okay,” he murmurs, shifting closer.

“Just tell me, if you—“

“Cas.”

 

Dean pulls his face towards him so he can give him a quick and hard kiss.

“Shut up.”

 

He tugs at his wrist, and Castiel can’t help it—he laughs, locking his arms around Dean’s waist. He tilts his head up to meet his lips.

“Asshole,” he whispers.

“Tease,” Dean murmurs back.

Castiel curls around him and bites down gently on his ear in retaliation, rolling his hips forward, just once. Dean clenches, a hissing sound escaping him.

“F-fuck, Cas.”

Castiel breathes hard, slowly thrusting forward again. He feels lightheaded from the pressure, of Dean surrounding him, and he clutches him tighter.

“Dean,” he whispers. “You feel—“

He ducks his head, unable to finish. Dean grips at his arm, one hand clutching at his stomach, sliding to his back, his breath hard and short.

Dean always burned a little hotter, probably because of the grace humming beneath his skin, pent up electricity and power—but now he feels like fire in Castiel’s arms, spiraling higher and hotter—until the world gives up and they ignite and catch fire.

Oh. But what a beautiful death.

 

He braces one hand against the headboard, the other wrapped around Dean’s middle as he fucks into him, Dean’s breath starting to come in short little gasps.

“Cas,” he pants. He twists back to kiss him, and they fall awkwardly onto their sides, but neither of them care—they just entangle themselves again, trying to get as close as they possibly can. Dean falls back to his elbows as Castiel thrusts shallowly into him, hiking up his thigh so he can get a better angle. Dean is panting, his eyes closed, and Castiel supports him, one sweaty hand on his back. He tries to kiss him and misses, his brow coming to rest against his cheek. Dean turns into the touch, nosing over his forehead, damp hair tickling him as he nuzzles over his face.

“Dean,” he pants. “I—“

“Come on,” he whispers. “Come on, Cas.”

 

Castiel clutches him tighter, pressing soft kisses into his neck as he speeds the motion of his hips, settling into a pace that has Dean writhing in his arms, his voice harsh and loud through gritted teeth. His whole body envelops and sinks with him, swallowing him whole, and Castiel can’t see anything else. There’s only Dean.

Dean’s hand loosens as he starts to break, and it slips down, brushing over Castiel’s mouth and lips. Castiel parts for him, letting Dean dip inside, sparking with the electric taste of his sweat and skin.

“Shit,” he breathes.

Castiel looks up at him, meeting his gaze. Those eyes are relentless, a storm of fire and lightning building behind them again—almost piercing through him as Castiel continues to press gentle kisses to his fingers.

Dean yanks Castiel’s hands and they almost fall back, but he catches him, wrapping an arm around his waist, bracing against the bed and thrusting into him harder. Dean groans into his mouth, rocking feverishly with him, as if he’s trying to get even closer, trying to melt into him and become one, breath hot against the sweat on his skin.

Castiel sucks in ragged breaths, pressing his slack open mouth to the line of his shoulder.

“You’re okay—you’re good, so good,” he mumbles. He changes his rhythm, dragging out of him agonizingly slow, and they both heave against each other, groaning.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean gasps. “Do that again.”

Castiel repeats the motion and Dean clutches to him, panting hard.

“Fuck—”

He’s trembling, so much that it seems like the bed beneath them is moving too, everything hot and heat and—

Castiel frowns, pulling back long enough from the heat of Dean to realize—

The room _is_ moving,shaking around them, and Castiel stops, panicking.

“Dean—“

 

A light shatters somewhere and they’re plunged into darkness. Castiel tries to sit up, shaking his head.

“Dean, we can’t—“

“No—“

He yanks him back in, pleading desperately.

“No, Cas, please—“

He kisses him feverishly, pulling him closer.

“Please don’t, don’t stop—”

“Dean—“

“C-cas.”

Those green eyes find his, his hands on his cheeks.

“Please,” Dean begs.

 

Castiel breathes hard, unable to look away. Dean tightens his grip.

“Please,” he whispers again.

 

 

Castiel swallows, leaning his forehead against his shoulder.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”

 

Dean is motionless against him, and he reassures him softly, slowly lowering him back onto the bed. Castiel cradles his head, pressing inside him again, Dean’s hands tightening on his arms.

“Cas—“

Dean’s eyes are shining again, grace leaking out of him, burning up the room.

Castiel grabs his hands and plants them on his own face.

“Dean, look at me.”

 

He whimpers, shaking his head.

“Dean,” Castiel pleads, slowing slightly.

Dean’s fingers tighten on his cheeks, and he takes a deep shuddering breath. Then, without warning, he looks up.

 

Castiel seizes as that white-hot titanium fire spills from Dean’ eyes, searing through his blood. He lurches forward, mouth falling open—

He heaves against him, and for a second, Castiel is terrified. It was so easy—so easy to forget sometimes—forget that Dean was an angel, and that the power contained in the body beneath him could rip him apart.

“Close your eyes,” he gasps, fighting against the brightness. “Dean—”

The walls are juddering, and Dean is shaking—his grace spinning out of control.

Castiel hastily falls forward, pressing his lips to his forehead.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers. “Close your eyes.”

Dean obeys, gasping.

“Breathe,” Castiel murmurs, thrusting up into him slowly, and Dean moans, a high desperate sound in his ear. Castiel swallows hard, pressing reassuring kisses into his cheek, his jaw, his throat.

“Hear my breath,” he says shakily, bracing one hand against the bed, the other curling around Dean’s wrist. “Breathe with me, okay?”

Dean nods desperately and wraps his arms around him, holding him in a grip that’s just shy of painful, but Castiel trusts him. Dean would never hurt him.

“That’s it…”

The light dims slightly and the room stops shaking, but Dean doesn’t. He holds on for a few more seconds, but then his fingers tighten, digging into Castiel’s back.

“Cas, I’m—I’m gonna—“

He almost falls back, but Castiel holds him tight, shivering as Dean buries his face in his chest, panting hard.

“Breathe,” he whispers into his ear.

 

Light screams out from behind his tightly closed eyelids as he comes, and Dean arches, lifting both of them up—

Castiel swears they float for a moment in midair before they crash back down to the bed, and Castiel nearly falls off of him as Dean collapses, going limp.

 

Castiel struggles back up.

“Dean?”

When he doesn’t get an answer, Castiel panics, tapping the side of his face, trying to get him to move, but he’s motionless.

“Dean.” He gasps, hitting him again. “Dean!”

 

A hand comes up and catches his wrist.

“Ow.”

 

Dean cracks open an eye.

“Save that for next time,” he murmurs, chuckling.

“Fuck—“

Castiel floods with relief, but smacks his arm again, growling.

“Don’t _do_ that.”

Dean doesn’t respond. He just stares up at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused.

“I think…I think I passed out a little.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“You asshole.”

But despite all his scoldings, when Dean slides a hand to his back, Castiel willingly leans in, settling into his arms and closing his eyes. Dean seems to have regained a little bit of his senses, and he runs cool fingers down his chest, his stomach, wrapping around Castiel’s still aching cock, stroking him gently. Castiel sucks in a breath and ducks his head, trembling.

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers, his voice heated with smoke and sensation. Castiel groans as he shifts underneath him, guiding Castiel back in. In one smooth motion, Dean pulls him in completely, legs wrapping around the small of his back, and Castiel jerks forward, gasping.

“Do you forgive me?” Dean whispers, emerald fire in his eyes.

Castiel huffs out some sort of agreement and sinks back down, bracing himself against the bed. Urged on by Dean’s shaking breaths, he picks up the movements again, sliding in and out, slow at first, but then Dean lets out a breathy sort of groan that scorches through him like holy fire—and he thrusts in faster, hands slipping as he gets closer.

“Dean—” Castiel turns his head, pressing into Dean’s neck. “Shit—“

He pants hard into his ear, fingers digging into the sheets below him. Dean runs his hands up and down his back and up to his face, coaxing him, urging him on.

“Cas,” he whispers, swiping one finger across his cheek and down over his jaw. “Come on, Cas.”

He tilts his head up, capturing his lips with a brief kiss.

“Castiel,” he breathes.

 

He feels it in Dean’s body before his own, the grip around him tightening—and Castiel groans, his whole body locking. He barely manages to pull out before he spills, striping Dean’s stomach and the back of his legs. Dean sighs and sinks, thunking his head back against the pillows.

Castiel braces himself as he kneels over Dean, gasping. He pushes himself up, his breath evening out as he comes back down to earth. Dean reaches a hand towards him, smiling sleepily.

“Get over here,” he murmurs.

 

Castiel hesitates.

“I should—“

He reaches for the bunched up sheets and cleans them up as best as he can—then tosses them to the floor and crawls back on top of him, smiling shyly. Dean returns the grin, hooking a finger in the cord around his neck and pulling him in. It’s a slow, simmering kiss, the scrape of tongue and just the barest hint of teeth. Castiel hums softly as he collapses next to him, draping an arm over his angel.

He can’t help it, his eyelids start to droop. Dean’s fingers stroke his face, feeling almost like the soft brush of feathers.

 

Those hands caress him slowly, pushing the sweaty hair away from his eyes.

“I love you, too,” he mumbles.

Castiel’s eyes snap open, but Dean’s are still closed. He’s almost asleep as he continues to comb his fingers through Castiel’s hair, one hand coming to settle on the back of his neck.

Castiel has to force himself to breathe.

 

“You what?” He whispers.

Dean blinks his eyes open slowly.

“Mmm?”

“You…”

Castiel swallows.

“You…love me?”

Dean chuckles sleepily.

“Yeah. Thought that was kinda obvious, dumbass.”

Castiel can barely speak.

“You—“

He closes his eyes, trying to slow his racing heart.

“You’ve never said it before,” he mumbles.

Dean smiles and rolls into him, curling into his arms.

“Well, I do. I love you.”

Hearing it again almost shatters him apart. Castiel tries to calm himself, but there’s a happiness building inside him, threatening to burst out of his chest.

Dean’s eyes start to close again as he traces a hand down his chest, trailing over his side.

“I’ve loved you for years,” he murmurs quietly.

Castiel frowns.

“What?”

 

It takes him a moment to register what he’s said. But once Dean realizes, he scrambles away, eyes shocking open.

“Shit—“

He covers his face with his hands, shaking his head. He’s no longer relaxed and warm against his side, he’s closed off—every nerve tight, his face pinched.

“Shit—I’m sorry, Cas, I’m sorry—I should have told you before now—“

Castiel tries to touch him.

“What are you talking about—“

He keeps babbling, and Castiel grabs his wrist, tipping his chin up.

“Hey.”

 

Dean refuses to look at him.

“Just tell me what you mean,” he says softly.

Dean stills in his grip. He swallows hard, eyes closed.

“Cas, I—“

He takes a deep breath.

“When I was—“

He breaks off again, looking up with pleading eyes. Castiel wordlessly opens his arms, and Dean folds into them, trembling slightly.

“When I was…sent down…” he tries again, speaking slowly. “I—“

He tucks his head into the crook of Castiel’s neck.

“I stayed.”

Castiel’s breath hitches.

“I watched and protected Anna,” Dean explains. “That was my main job, but I—I learned about humans, I saw her live her life—and when she met you…” He trails off.

Castiel thinks he stops breathing altogether.

 

“So did I,” Dean whispers.

 

Something floods through him, something like fire and ice and—

“I’ve known you almost your whole life, Cas.”

He looks down, seeing Dean staring at him in a sort of pained hope. His eyes are so wide, searching for a hint of danger, searching for forgiveness.

“I loved you from the moment I saw you,” he confesses softly.

Castiel’s throat constricts. He can’t bring himself to speak. He can’t believe it—that all this time there had been something, something _more_ when he had thought there was nothing—when he had thought himself so worthless that he had been close to ending it all.

An angel had been watching over him.

 

But then Dean speaks again, haltingly, and Castiel trembles.

“That’s—“

Dean shivers in his arms, and Castiel instinctively holds on tighter, nearly crying as he clings to him, breathing hard.

“That’s why, Cas, that’s why.”

Dean buries his face into Castiel’s neck. He’s speaking in starts and stops, words barely edging past his lips as he hushes out the truth.

“I couldn’t let you die, Cas. I couldn’t leave you there—“

His voice breaks, and Castiel seizes, his mind flashing briefly back to Hell before he remembers Dean in his arms. His heart slows, but his throat remains choked. The grim reminder of that place still sat in his soul, but every day the horrors were slowly fading away, memories of fire and blood replaced by sunlight and skin, Dean’s green eyes and his honey laugh.

“You were there and you were dead, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t—“

He gasps, tightening his grip, hot tears slipping against his skin. Castiel didn’t realize he was crying too until he saw his own tears fall, drip onto Dean’s shoulder and roll away.

“Not when I could do something, not when I could save you,” Dean mumbles as he clutches at Castiel, hand finding Castiel’s and holding it tight.

“I had to,” he says again, barely audible.

“Dean. Dean,” Castiel murmurs, trying to let him know it’s okay, that there’s nothing to forgive. He wishes he could tell him more now, but all he can manage is his name, that one word that had come to mean so much.

 

Dean suddenly grips his cheek, forcing those blue eyes on him.

“Don’t make me lose you,” he whispers. “Not again.”

“No,” Castiel breathes. “Never.”

He kisses him, he kisses him because he can’t do anything else, and he thinks that Dean understands. He loosens beneath him, easing his tears away as he slips their mouths together, holding Castiel close.

 

Dean holds him and it feels like a prayer, he washes away his sins with his breath and purifies him with his kiss.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, this story has officially passed 100,000 words! Definitely the longest fic I've ever written, and I want to thank all of you for sticking with me this far. 
> 
> That being said, [hold on to your butts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-W6as8oVcuM).

Castiel wakes up, blinking heavily as he takes in the room around him.

He knows it’s way too early, judging by the sun and the odd angle at which it’s peeking through the window. He stretches and yawns, smoothing his hands over the rough cotton sheets of the motel bed.

He fingers a hole in them, smiling fondly at the charred edges. Only slightly scorched this time. Nothing Dean couldn’t put right in a snap of fingers.

Dean.

 

Castiel rolls over. Dean’s got one arm thrown up above his head, the other circled around Castiel, chest rising and falling rhythmically. The early morning rays bathe his face in a soft gold, like the light of Heaven itself.

It's always gold when he's with Dean.

 

His eyes are skittering a little under his lids, and Castiel wonders if angels can dream. And what they dream about.

Castiel shifts closer, laying his head on Dean's chest. He commits the sight to memory, the angles and curves, the smell, the taste.

He closes his eyes.

Breathe. In. Out.

 

Dean’s heart beats softly, a steady pulse that Castiel tries to count, but fails as he drifts, lulled by his gentle rhythm.

 

Castiel smiles, dragging his fingers up Dean's stomach, drawing swirls and crescents over the golden tattoos in Dean’s skin. Up his sides, his chest, the smooth line of his collarbone that fades away into his shoulder. The sigils there are darker, more words, more lines. Dean spoke them to Castiel once, whispered feverishly in his ear, almost lost in the space between their kisses and sighs.

Castiel hesitates, but reaches out, touching his cheek. When Dean doesn’t react, he shifts closer, propping himself up on his elbow. Castiel traces his fingers up Dean's jaw, sweeping up the curve of his cheek, the soft shell of his ear—then higher, dotting his hairline, scratching lightly at the skin there. Dean hums, shifting under the touch. Castiel smiles.

He starts to make his way down, dancing his fingertips over Dean's forehead, nose, over closed eyelids. Dean chuckles low in his throat, a deep husky sound that Castiel wraps up in himself, soaking up the sensation.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs.

“Memorizing,” Castiel answers idly, now swiping over Dean's cheekbones, tickling at his eyelashes where they rest on his cheeks.

Dean opens his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Castiel glances up. Dean’s voice is still hazy with the memories of sleep, but his eyes are clear. His voice sobers, and he speaks with conviction.

“I’m never going to leave you,” he says softly.

Castiel finds Dean's lips with a brush of fingers.

“You promise?”

He’s only half-joking.

 

Dean hooks an arm around Castiel's waist and rolls him over.

“Promise,” he whispers.

 

They trade promises into the late morning, until Anna pounds on the door, yelling that breakfast isn’t gonna eat itself.

 

 

x

 

 

“So. Did anyone feel that earthquake last night?”

Castiel chokes on his orange juice.

 

Gabriel barely spares him a glance, oblivious as he shovels food into his mouth, sucking down his eggs like they’re about to disappear. But Anna’s watching Castiel, smirking. She continues.

“It’s interesting, because I checked—and apparently the last one in North Dakota was almost 40 years ago, or something.” She shrugs. “Weird.”

She takes another sip of coffee, barely containing her grin.

Castiel glares back. Anna just smiles wider. Castiel drags a finger across his throat.

 _You are so dead_ , he mouths.

She leers, about to retort when two people unexpectedly appear at their table.

 

Gabe knocks over his coffee, and Anna jerks back, dropping her fork. Castiel is unfazed, used to it by now. Hell, he has to be, with Dean fucking with him pretty much all the time with the whole teleportation thing.

“Hey,” Sam says. Dean gives a little salute.

“Anna here was just talking about the earthquake last night,” Castiel says swiftly, catching his eye.

Dean frowns.

“Earthquake?”

He sits down next to Castiel.

“We didn’t feel any earthquake.”

Castiel kicks him under the table.

“RIGHT— _that_ earthquake,” Dean blurts. “Well—“

He immediately puts on a serious face.

“I’m not surprised.” He straightens, looking stern. “With Abaddon on the move, it only makes sense. I get the feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of natural disasters,” he says, adding a grave tone to his voice that makes Castiel snort into his juice.

Anna squints at them suspiciously, but Dean just gives her a wink. He squeezes Castiel’s hand, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, let me—“

Sam smiles apologetically and waves a hand, and Gabe’s coffee is gone from the table and back in his cup, like it never even happened. Gabriel blinks a little.

“Well, hey.”

He picks it up.

“That’s something I could get used to.”

 

They talk about nothing in particular while the humans finish up their breakfast. Sam politely refuses everything he’s offered, sending reproving but amused looks at Dean as he steals from Castiel’s plate.

“So, any updates on where you’ve been zapping off to?” Gabriel asks, pulling a couple bills from his wallet. “How’s the search for the blade going?”

“We don’t just disappear for the fun of it,” Sam says coolly. “We’ve been tracking this Crowley character.”

Castiel glances at Dean, but he doesn’t meet his eyes.

Sam taps his fingers against his arm.

“We’ve got it, uh…tracked down. To a trader who’s dealt with Crowley before. Thought we’d go check it out—see if we can’t get a location.”

He glances over at Dean, who’s unusually quiet, fiddling with one of the cheap paper napkins on the table.

Castiel clears his throat.

“How long are you going to be gone?”

“Probably two weeks,” Sam says, oblivious. “But with any luck, we’ll be back at the end of it, with our very own archangel blade.”

Anna and Gabriel immediately start in on their own questions, but Castiel is only aware of Dean. He’s purposefully focusing just on Sam, stiff and rigid by his side.

Castiel swallows. There’s a strange feeling in the pit of his gut, a worry he knows all too well.

Dean's going to leave. Again.

But this time Castiel’s not going to let that happen.

 

 

Gabriel finishes up at the register, and the rest of them are filing out the door of the diner when Castiel catches Dean’s elbow.

“Dean. Hey.”

He slows, smiling faintly at Castiel.

“What’s up?” He asks, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Castiel’s ear.

Castiel shrugs.

“I want to come with you.”

 

Dean looks shocked for a moment, his hand dropping. Then he shakes his head.

“Cas, no.”

Castiel frowns.

“Why?”

Dean glances over his shoulder, where Sam is talking to Gabriel and Anna.

He quickly pulls Castiel aside.

“It’s…it’s too dangerous,” Dean says eventually, speaking to the ground. “We don’t know what we’re gonna find, hell—even we might not be able to handle it, and with Lilith still after us—“

He sighs.

“You shouldn’t even really be hunting anymore.”

 

Castiel stares at him.

“What?” He asks slowly.

“I mean—after what Bela did to you—”

Dean exhales.

“You’re not gonna have me around to heal you up, okay? It’d be better if you just stayed out of these kind of situations, period.”

Castiel narrows his eyes.

“So you’re saying I should just sit here, is that it?”

Dean steps back, his eyes widening. Castiel feels that prickle at the back of his mind, his anger getting the better of him.

“Dean, I’m not going to stay holed up inside like I’m in some damn nuclear bunker.”

“Cas—“

Castiel cuts him off, his voice rising.

“You think I can’t take care of myself?”

Dean’s face darkens, one hand raising slightly, as if to touch Castiel, to calm him.

“No, Cas—that’s not what I—“

“You can’t make me stay there,” Castiel hisses. “I won’t.”

Dean is fuming, his mouth a thin line.

 

“Cas. Don’t argue with me.”

“Don’t be an asshole then,” Castiel snaps.

 

Dean glares at him.

“Cas—“

“Ready to go?”

Sam is standing behind them, his face pulled into a forced smile. Dean doesn’t tear his eyes away from Castiel’s. They stare at each other, locked in stalemate.

Then Dean straightens, his eyes hardening.

“We’ll see you in two weeks.”

 

He turns on his heel and disappears in a rush of wind.

 

 

x

 

 

It’s definitely been more than two weeks.

_“Reports flooding in from across the country, a string of what is believed to be murders, where the victims' eyes were completely burned out—“_

 

After several fights with Gabriel and Anna, they had relented to go on a few short trips, after Castiel had been getting more snappish and irritable each day. Because, Christ—three people in an enclosed space like that was a recipe for disaster. Castiel felt himself flaring up at the tiniest things—when Anna took the last cup of coffee, when Gabriel was breathing too loud.

And the fact that Dean wasn’t answering any of his prayers wasn’t helping.

 

_“Police say the explosion in Rockford was caused by a ruptured gas main, but locals remain suspicious. One witness, shouting and raving about men with black eyes, was forcibly removed from the scene.”_

 

The last time Castiel had seen him had ended badly—a shouting match in the middle of the cabin’s living room that ended in Dean flashing away with an angry snarl.

 

The fight was the same one they’d been having over and over, ever since that morning at the diner. Castiel wanted to come with him. Dean said it was too dangerous.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

 

_“There’s a growing trend of earthquakes setting off chain reactions all around the world, with landslides and volcanic eruptions following nearby the epicenter. Experts are at loss for why this is happening so frequently, and on such a large scale. Some are calling it Armageddon.”_

Dean kept saying there had to be a way, to stop the archangels—but whenever Castiel pressed him for details, he would clam up.

Castiel knows he doesn’t have anything. He can’t. Nothing except this damn blade, and God knows how fruitless that’s been.

He was trying to see a way out, but with every passing day, with every report of another unexplained disaster, of another string of crazy deaths, Castiel felt his spine tighten another notch.

 

But right now, he’s glad Dean doesn’t know about this. He’d probably be pissed.

 

 

Anna’s waiting on the bed, holding her shoulder as Castiel tries to stitch himself up.

Fuckin’ poltergeist.

 

He’s actually surprised Dean hasn’t showed, but he supposed Anna hadn’t been in danger of dying, so the guardianship tie, or whatever you would call it, hadn’t dragged him here.

But damn. They could use him.

Castiel ties the final knot in the gash in his arm, snapping the thread with his teeth. He grabs the bottle of whiskey from the side table and splashes it briefly, hissing as the alcohol hits his wound. He takes a good sip of it, just to dull the pain a little. It doesn’t burn going down.

He gestures to Anna.

“Okay. Come on.”

She braces herself for it, as Castiel places a hand on her shoulder.

“You ready?”

She nods briefly, closing her eyes.

“On three—“

He counts.

“One…two…three.”

He doesn’t move, and she cracks open an eye, glaring at him.

“Dude. What’re you—“

That’s when he snaps it back into place, and she wheels away from him, hissing.

“Fuck—“

She shakes out her arm, throwing him a hateful stare.

“You asshole.”

 

Castiel shrugs, turning back to his pack. Anna grits her teeth, taking her own swig of whiskey, flopping back down on the bed.

“Damn.” She sighs, staring at the ceiling. “Some of that angel mojo would be nice right now, huh?”

Castiel doesn’t answer her.

They had managed to take thing out, but they had gotten sliced up pretty good before Anna managed to burn the necklace that had been tying it to earth.

Castiel sighs, rubbing his face.

“Fucking ghosts,” he mutters aloud this time, groaning as he feels another kink in his back from where it had managed to throw him.

Anna makes an aborted attempt at a laugh, swirling down another gulp from the bottle.

“Amen.”

She rubs her face, chuckling.

“Dude. You remember that one in Georgia? Who sent you sprawling face down into that mud pile?”

Castiel sits back, blinking a little. Yeah, he did. What was that, almost ten years ago—?

Anna is giggling, and Castiel turns, growling halfheartedly.

“C’mon. I was like, fifteen.”

She laughs, for real this time, barely able to choke out words.

“S-son of a bitch had you pinned for about five fuckin’ minutes before Dad took him out,” she gasps. “And your—your face when you came up, god, you were ready to murder him—“

Castiel smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. Anna’s laughter is infectious.

“Pretty sure Dad let him fuck with me on purpose,” he snorts, standing and grabbing the whiskey bottle from her. She doesn’t resist, still lost in peals of laughter.

“Then he—he shoved you in the back seat, completely hosed you down—“

Castiel smacks her leg.

“Shut up.”

She wipes her eyes, practically in tears.

“Oh, Christ. That was funny.”

 

Castiel laughs with her, unable to hold onto his sulk. He remembers it clearly—Dad had wrapped him in a tarp and basically threatened to chuck him into the lake, as Anna grinned in triumph from the front seat, Castiel’s usual perch. Then Dad didn’t let him take one step inside until he soaked him down with the garden hose, and Castiel had gone off to his room like that, one hand holding his dripping shoes, leaving puddles in his wake.

Castiel shakes his head.

“You’re a dick, Annie.”

“Oh my god—“

She kicks him.

“Never call me that again.”

“Do you want me to re-dislocate your shoulder? ‘Cause I will.”

“Bring it on, _Asstiel_ —“

Castiel tackles her, but she promptly kicks his ass, and she lords it over him the entire ride home.

 

x

 

 

 

Naomi stands in the dim room, her head bowed.

“You lost him.”

Cold white knuckles grip the edge of the chair, those eyes trained on her.

“My lord—there was another.”

 

Naomi grits her teeth, choosing her words carefully.

 

“A complication. A guardian—“

“Quiet.”

Naomi stops, her fingers twitching.

 

“And the blade?” Comes the quiet question.

Naomi straightens.

“Located. In the possession of a rat.” She sneers. “His name is Crowley.”

“Crowley.”

Blood-red nails drum on the chair’s arm.

 

“And Alastair?”

Naomi perks up at that.

“Strangely quiet. It appears the same sigils that have been blocking us have also been targeted at him.”

“Is that so.”

Naomi explains quickly.

“Delayed in obtaining a vessel, trap and protections hidden with words and spells…”

Her voice darkens.

“There is a trickster at work here.”

“Hmm.”

 

Her hand stills, scraping against the black wood.

“There was only one I knew who had such skill in the word of God, but…”

She trails off, thinking for a moment.

“It can’t be.”

 

 

Naomi waits.

 

“Well.”

 

She stands, straightening the leather of her jacket. She hasn’t bothered to wash off the blood, Naomi notes.

“It’s been fun testing out this vessel, but I think it’s time to get down to business,” she purrs, clasping her hands behind her back. “Perhaps I’ll kill this Crowley myself.”

She turns a sharp eye on the demon sweating in the middle of the room.

“Your incompetence hasn’t ruined everything,” she mutters.

“Your grace,” Naomi starts. “I’m sure he is feeling the effects. I made sure of that—“

“But it would have been much quicker if you hadn’t lost him,” she hisses.

Naomi falls silent, fuming.

 

“Find him.”

Those eyes fall on her again, burning with cold fire.

“Draw him out. I am tired of waiting.”

Naomi nods quickly.

“As you wish.”

She turns to leave, when she speaks again.

“And Naomi—“

The angel’s lipsticked mouth grins wide.

“Do not fail me again.”

 

 

Naomi purses her lips, then disappears. The other woman stands, brushing the long red hair from her face.

“See you soon,” she murmurs, smiling.

 

 

“Castiel.”

 

x

 

 

 

Dean lands softly, his wings barely making a sound.

 

He stands still for a moment, just listening.

The cabin gently creaks around him, the slight breeze of the wind brushing against the windows. And the sound of three bodies, breathing in the lull of sleep.

Dean sighs.

 

He approaches the first room, stepping silently inside. He looks down at her, twisted up in the sheets. Her hair is wild, splayed out on her pillow—and Dean leans forward, taking stock of her vitals. Anna’s mind is a rush of swirling orange and red, but with a slight undercurrent of fear—her heart rate pitched slightly.

 

Dean places a hand on her wrist, concentrating. He quickly soothes her mind, sweeping away the bad dream. She immediately relaxes, the furrow of her brow smoothing out.

Dean quietly steps back from her bedside, moving towards the hallway. He glances over his shoulder, turning right, but his feet won’t let him move.

 

Standing in her doorway, he hesitates—then finally—groans.

 

He turns left, heading back to Gabriel’s room.

He’s flopped over on his stomach, snoring loudly. Dean rolls his eyes, but casts out his mind anyway.

He finds it bursting with hazel and gold, mostly undisturbed. But he protects him anyway, if only for tonight.

 

His good deed done, he flits away to the last bedroom, some of his worry leaving him when he sees Castiel, safe in his bed.

Dean notices with a pang he’s still fully dressed.

But he guesses that’s just what a soldier does. Is ready at any moment to get up and fight.

 

Dean sits gently on the side of his bed, reaching out to stroke through his hair. Maybe he shouldn’t have come.

He just wanted to avoid the fights that recently had started becoming more and more frequent. He knows Castiel’s temper was getting shorter every day, and he knows his frustration is justified, but Dean…Dean can’t risk him out there. He can’t lose him. He’d die before losing Cas. Better have him pissed at him now, if it meant he’d be safe later.

 

Castiel’s hands are twitching, and they grip at the sheets beneath him where he lies, hunched over on his side. Dean looks into his mind, and recoils.

Snarling, whirling black and ragged gray—blood and spiky red.

Dean quickly curls a hand around his cheek, cooing softly.

 

Cas relaxes, his body going still, his breath evening out. The horror and the pain fades away, and the colors shift to gentle green and blue, mixing and curling together.

Dean smiles. He’s dreaming of them.

He brings his hand to Cas’s head again, gently drifting through his soft hair.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he whispers. “I wish I could be here every night to make them go away.”

 

He stays there for a while, just watching him sleep. He knows what Cas would say if he woke up— _That’s grade-A creepy, Dean_ —but he likes seeing him calm. He likes seeing him at peace.

 

His other hand finds Castiel’s, and he holds it, closing his eyes.

 

 

 

_Dean._

 

Sam’s voice, a tendril in his thoughts.

The demon must have cracked.

 

Dean exhales, looking back down at Castiel. He squeezes his hand gently.

“I’m sorry it has to be like this,” he murmurs.

He gently presses a kiss to the back of his hand, closing his eyes briefly, unwilling to let go.

With a sigh, he releases Cas’s hand, standing quietly.

 

With one last look at the sleeping man in the bed, he disappears.

 

 

By the time he wings away to his brother’s side, the demon is already disposed of, Sam calmly wiping his blade.

“I got an address.”

Dean looks at him sharply.

“Just like that?”

Sam shrugs.

“Claimed that’s where Crowley was. Might as well check it out.” He tucks his blade away, shaking his head slightly. “Even if it is another dead end.”

 

They had been working their way through the demonic chain of command, once they found out they were hunting Crowley too. It had been getting more and more difficult as time wore on, their protections getting tighter. They were still just demons, but they now had more warding against angels, no doubt passed down from Abaddon. They had been close these past few days, up into the higher levels, trying to find one who knew of the blade. Unfortunately, they hadn’t encountered the white-eyed demon Cas had shakily told him about, the one who haunted his nightmares. She better pray they never did meet. Dean would rip her apart.

 

 

They call Charlie, but there’s no response. There’s nothing to it but to wait.

Sam paces anxiously. Dean is crouched down low, twisting his blade into the dirt. He doesn't blink. Just stares straight ahead, turning the blade slowly, over and over in his fingers.

Sam sighs.

“Dean?”

“What?” He snaps.

Sam narrows his eyes.

“Try that again.”

Dean closes his eyes.

“What,” he says evenly.

Sam sighs.

“Look, man…I know this has taken a while, but we’re so close. And once Charlie gets here—“

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, a low growl of frustration in his throat.

“It’s not that, it’s—“

He stops, and Sam frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

 

 

They’re quiet for a moment.

Sam glances at him tentatively.

“Is it Cas?”

Dean whips his head around, glaring at him. Sam holds his breath.

Then he just seems to deflate, his shoulders slumping.

“Partially,” he mumbles. He rubs his forehead, closing his eyes.

“He just makes me so angry sometimes,” he mutters quietly.

“You tell him what we’ve actually been doing?”

Dean grimaces.

“Are you crazy? He’d go ballistic. Torturing is kind of, uh, a touchy subject, to say the least.”

Sam purses his lips slightly.

“Dean, I…I don’t like lying to them. Their trust in me is thin as it is—“

“I know,” Dean says. “But it’s better this way. Believe me.”

“You can’t ask him to sit this out,” Sam says carefully. Dean drops his hand.

“I know, but—“

“Anna’s involved,” Sam says. “You of all people should know what that means to him.”

Dean is quiet.

“I know.”

He stands, shrugging his hands.

“What am I supposed to do, Sammy?” He laughs, but it’s bitter. “I can’t risk losing him. Not again, and I—“

“You can’t protect him forever, Dean.”

Dean falls silent, staring at him.

“Humans don’t live forever,” Sam says softly.

 

Dean seems speechless. He sets his jaw and goes back to staring at the dirt. Sam sighs, rubbing at his neck.

“All I’m saying is…”

He laughs shortly.

“I’ve been on the receiving end of your protective side before. You might try easing up a little.”

Dean doesn’t answer him.

 

 

 

Charlie never shows.

 

x

 

Castiel stretches as he walks down the hall to the kitchen. To his surprise, Gabe’s already up, and he’s making _breakfast_.

Castiel rubs his eyes, wondering if he’s still dreaming.

 

Gabriel pushes a couple of sausages around on the pan, whistling. He glances over his shoulder, cracking a grin when he sees Castiel.

“Morning!”

“Uh.”

Castiel takes the mug of coffee Gabriel promptly shoves into his hands.

“You feelin’ okay?”

“Feel great, actually.”

He scoops up the sausage onto plates, placing one on the table for Castiel, and one in front of Anna, who’s watching the exchange in bewildered amusement.

“You? How’d you sleep?”

Castiel curls his hands around the mug.

“Surprisingly well, actually.”

Anna picks up her fork.

“Me too.”

 

Castiel digs into his breakfast, and is surprised to find it’s actually edible. Usually he wouldn’t trust Gabe anywhere near a stove, but hey—maybe being cooped up was forcing him to improve.

They’re all in unusually good moods, which is saying something, considering how tense everything's been recently. So much that the topic of possible hunts doesn’t come up until everyone's finished eating, and Castiel isn't the one who brings it up.

Gabriel leans over Anna, who's scrolling through news on her laptop. He squints at the screen.

 

“What’ve we got?”

“Um…”

 

Anna sits back.

“Nothing,” she says after a moment, surprised. Castiel looks up.

“What?”

“Well, I mean…” She shrugs. “From what I can tell. There’s nothing on the radar. Network’s quiet, no weird deaths or injuries. It’s just…quiet.”

Gabriel thinks it over for a moment, then taps the back of her chair, straightening.

“Okay. Snow day then.”

 

 

 

It’s strange, doing nothing. But instead of irritating him, like it normally does, Castiel secretly revels in the quiet. Gabriel goes to his books, Anna sits in the living room, methodically cleaning her guns. Castiel sits by the window, doodling absentmindedly. He slips in and out of a doze, the sounds around him gently lulling him to sleep. The hum of the refrigerator, the whirring of the fan. At one point, the ring of Gabriel’s phone from the other room, him answering. Anna’s soft movements, the click of her revolvers as she sets them on the table. For the first time in a long time, he feels at peace.

 

He’s got his feet propped up on the table, watching some cooking competition show that’s strangely fascinating, when Anna comes back from her run, flushed and out of breath.

She heads straight to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and chugging half of it before turning to Castiel.

“Where’s Gabe?”

“What?” Castiel says distractedly.

“Gabriel. Where is he?”

“He’s not in his room?”

“No, I passed it on the way in.”

Castiel shrugs.

“Probably went into town.”

Anna nods, downing the rest of her water. She tries to join him on the couch, but he vehemently blocks her, wrinkling his nose.

“Dude, you stink. Take a shower.”

She whaps the back of his head on her way to the bathroom.

 

 

By hour three of the marathon, Castiel is starting to get dangerous ideas, about actually making something for dinner instead of getting takeout, which has been their typical move the past couple of months. Anna complained initially about his choice of TV show, but had gotten sucked into it too, and they’re both way too invested in who should win—when the feed abruptly cuts out. A splash of yellow paints the screen, and the sound of a news jingle, with an ominous title card.

 

_BREAKING NEWS_

_“We come to you tonight with a breaking news story, a graphic murder that shocked this idyllic town, discovered by the police just one hour ago—“_

Anna glances at him.

“Well. There goes our snow day.”

 

_“The victim’s name has finally been released to the press. His name was Inias Cooper, and he—“_

 

Castiel stands suddenly.

“I know that name.”

He looks at Anna, ignoring the TV as the reporter blathers on.

“Wasn’t that one of Dad’s friends?”

Her face flashes with recognition.

“Shit, yeah—“

She stands too, going over to the kitchen table, grabbing some of the old records she had been looking at earlier.

“I swear, I saw his name just this morning—“

She shuffles through them, finally finding the right page and spreading it out flat.

“Here. Says they worked a bunch of jobs together in the 70’s."

“We have to get down there,” Castiel says immediately. “No, wait—call Hester.”

Anna looks up at him, alarmed.

“What?”

“Hester,” he says, tapping the sheet impatiently. “I remember, she lives maybe thirty minutes away from him, there’s no way they weren’t in touch.”

Anna is still looking at him like he’s gone off the deep end, and hell, maybe he has—but she pulls out her phone and quickly dials the number, waiting as it rings.

She swallows when the machine picks up.

“No answer,” she whispers.

Castiel's blood runs cold. Just as he had feared.

“Cas, what is going on?” Anna asks him, sounding panicked.

“She’s going after hunters,” Castiel breathes.

_“What?”_

“She’s—whatever killed Inias, it’s going after hunters—anyone we’ve ever worked with—“

Anna is staring at him, her mouth open.

“How do you know that—“

“Trust me, I just do,” he snaps. Anna still doesn’t move.

“Cas…”

He wheels on her.

“Anna, look at my face, and tell me that I’m lying.”

She goes pale.

“Shit.”

 

She immediately kicks into action, grabbing weapons and throwing them into her pack, her hands shaking.

“We have to warn them, if somebody’s targeting them because of us—“

She freezes.

“Gabriel.”

Castiel stiffens too.

“Anna—you don’t think—“

“Call him,” she says. “Right now.”

Castiel fumbles for his own phone, his heart pounding.

“I gotta go out to Zeke, and Hannah—we’ll split up, you warn Hael, she’s only a couple hours out—“

“What if Gabriel—“

She stops grabbing stuff, her face panicked.

“He’s okay,” she whispers, but she doesn’t sound convinced. “I’m sure he is.”

 

Gabe doesn't pick up. Castiel swears, nearly throwing his phone across the room.

 

 

Within 15 minutes they’re on the road. Castiel drives her into town so she can jack a car, and once she finds one, they both speed away, tires squealing on the pavement.

Castiel yanks the wheel, his heart pounding. He just hopes he gets there before Naomi does.

 

x

 

Sam didn’t try to dissuade him. Dean doesn’t know what the hell is going on with Charlie—but what he does know is that they can’t wait any longer.

Sam raises a hand, blowing down the doors, and then they’re inside.

 

Dean has to keep reminding himself that these villains are no monsters—no angels or devils or any other evil thing. They might be greedy, they might be vice-ridden despicable men, but they’re still human. Two fingers to the forehead, and they’re down for the count. No injuries, no deaths. Get in and get out.

Sam drops another guard, and he sinks to the floor, unconscious. Dean walks cautiously, his footsteps making no noise. He’s slightly wary that it had been so easy.

 

 

They pass into the main hall. One guard manages to get a couple bullets into him, but it does nothing but piss him off. Dean throws the man aside with barely a second glance, nodding to his brother. Sam waves a hand, sweeping open the doors to the grand hall.

It’s dark. Completely silent.

 

Dean takes slow steps forward, conscious of Sam behind him, his head swiveling vigilantly back and forth. His eyes adjust to the dim light, and he sees nothing but old furniture, a couple statues—

Suddenly, the lights flick on, and Dean whips his head around, staring at the blood sigils on the wall.

He recognizes them a split second too late.

He whirls.

“Sammy, run—it’s a trap—”

 

Then it hits him.

 

 

Dean doubles over, choking.

 

His blade clatters to the floor, and distantly—he hears the effects of the spell hitting Sam, too. He struggles to lift his head.

Sam is already on his hands and knees, blood dripping down his chin.

 

“Pathetic.”

 

A pair of feet strides into his line of vision, kicking his blade aside.

“You think I didn’t know you would come?”

 

Dean looks up, barely able to breathe.

He can sense his soul—it’s human, human and whole—not tainted by black or a wisp of demon smoke, but Dean wants to hurt him. He wants him to burn, he wants to watch his light explode and die, crumbling under the white-hot fury of his grace.

The man sneers down at him, a smug expression on his pale and pointed face.

“Thought you could just walk in and take my blade?”

He scoffs.

“I paid a pretty penny for this, boys. Of course I took some precautions, you righteous _morons!_ ”

Dean digs his fingers into the ground.

His insides are stabbing with pain, like hot needles, widening and becoming knives. But there’s no wounds for him to heal.

Is this what it’s like to be human?

 

As if he can read his glare, Crowley smirks.

“Just a little spell I picked up over the years,” he purrs, glancing down at him. “And it helps that I wrote it in an Angel’s blood. Lot stronger that way.” 

Dean’s snarl dies in his throat. His arms shake as he struggles to keep himself up, barely able to grit out his words.

“Balthazar,” he mutters.

 

_“Oh.”_

Crowley raises an eyebrow.

“ _Your_ blood.” He bends over him, tsking slightly. “No wonder you can barely stand.”

 

He straightens, glancing over to where Sam is hunched against the wall, panting for breath.

“Might take a while to kill him, but you…”  
Crowley drags his eyes back to Dean, where he lies, choking on the floor.

“Well,” he says poisonously. “You’re a goner now, aren’t you?”

 

“Let my—”

Dean manages to push himself up on his elbows, his voice shaking.

“Let my brother go,” he chokes out.

 

“Don’t think so.”

 

The man pulls back from him, his heels clicking against the tiled floor. Dean can barely focus, everything’s just blurs of color now, the world tipping around him—

“I suppose this is what you were looking for,” the man says carelessly, setting something on the desk in front of him.

 

Dean fights against the pain stabbing into his chest, dragging his head up.

Abaddon's blade. Nestled in a black briefcase. Barely 10 feet away from him.

Dean lurches forward, but another wave of pain seizes his bones, making him fold over, gasping.

 

Crowley picks up the blade, laughing quietly.

“A beautiful weapon, this,”  he says, turning it over in his hands. “It’d be a shame to tarnish it so soon.”

He turns those cold dark eyes on him, smiling poisonously.

“Now,” he whispers. “I think I’ll watch you die.”

 

The room around them gives a jolting heave, and the man stumbles. Dean looks around wildly, the walls starting to shake violently around them.

“You brought an archangel?” Crowley yells.

Dean panics.

“No—“

Crowley moves quickly to Sam’s side, grabbing his arm and yanking him up. He jabs the blade to Sam’s throat, cutting into his flesh.

“Get us out of here. Now,” the man hisses.

The door bangs open, three demons spilling inside. They see Crowley and hiss, bolting towards him.

“Ah—not so fast,” he says, backing away. Sam is unable to fight back, dragged along, the black blade still dangerously pressed to his neck. A trickle of blood runs from the wound.

“Or what?” The demon in the middle sneers. “Your angel pets are out of commission,” he says, throwing a snide glance at Dean. Another stalks forward, kicking him in the side. Dean gasps in pain, curling into a ball. He can’t think, it’s just blinding, stabbing pain, and Sam, _Sam’s in danger, no—_

“Not yet.”

 

Crowley tightens his grip.

“Come on. Move.”

Sam coughs, trembling.

“I—I can’t—”

“You know damn well you still can,” Crowley hisses back. He presses the blade harder against his throat.

_“Now.”_

 

Sam meets Dean’s eyes, shaking his head.

“No, Sam,” he breathes. “Don’t.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers.

Then they’re gone.

 

Dean yells. The building is still shaking, threatening to come apart. A high-pitched noise starts, singing through his entire being, the voice of his incoming brethren, a white light burning at the windows.

The demons don’t seem worried. They turn towards him, smiling eerily.

“What a fun present.”

 

They step closer, and Dean struggles uselessly, scraping his hands against the floor.

He feels like he’s dying. He’s never felt pain like this before—it’s second only to the torture Lilith put him through, but that was the essence of his grace. This stabs at his physical body, tearing and ripping him apart from the inside out.

“Angel can’t get it up,” one of the demons sneers, and the others laugh.

Dean grabs at a nearby statue, trying to push himself up. He grabs the base, and makes it to his knees—but then his strength gives out, and he crumples, gasping. His guts twist harshly, and he spits blood, falling to the ground.

The demons move in, sliding into his peripheral vision. Dean looks up, weak, useless, unable to fight back. They could stab him with his own blade, and he would be unable to do anything. Unable to defend himself.

Bare. Mortal.

 

 

 

The doors blow open.

“Starting the apocalypse without me?”

 

The demons turn, snarling. She snaps them out of existence with a flick of her fingers.

 

 

Dean just lies there, panting shallowly against the floor. He weakly looks up as approaches him, her face twisted in concern.

“Dean,” Charlie whispers, kneeling. She curls a hand around his face.

He chokes, gripping at her sleeve.

“Cha-charlie,” he gasps. “I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says. “I got you, kiddo. You’re not gonna die on my watch.”

She helps him up, but Dean is shaking his head, struggling to choke out the words.

“Charlie, they—they took Sam. They took him.”

Charlie curses.

“Dammit—”

She looks around, her eyes darting everywhere as she thinks, finally making a decision.

“Okay—let's go, let's _go_ —"

 

They run, stumbling towards the exit. Dean tries to explain.

“It’s a—a spell. You can’t—you have to go—”

“It’ll take a lot more than that to bring me down,” she says firmly, her arms tight around him. “C’mon. I’m not leaving you behind.”

“But she’s coming—Abaddon—”

Charlie suddenly stops.

Dean collapses against her, his legs buckling.

 

She drops with him, gripping his shoulders tight.

“Dean. Dean—listen. Listen to me.”

 

She pulls him towards her, even as he drops to his knees, his head lolling—and Charlie quickly shoves up her sleeves, grabbing his forearms. She closes her eyes, concentrating.

Dean feels the poisonous magic leave him in a rush, and his eyes fly open in shock.

She squeezes his hands, her eyes finding his.

“Find Sam, and find that blade,” she whispers. “Get to Anna. She can help—”

Dean takes a deep breath, trying to draw on his grace, his power, but—

 

Nothing. He’s completely drained.

Useless.

 

“I can’t,” he stutters out. “I don’t know—Crowley—it weakened me—”

Charlie tightens the grip on his hands.

“Luckily I’m made of a little stronger stuff,” she whispers.

 

A rush of power floods through him from where their hands are joined, blinding him and nearly knocking him off his feet. Her grace mingles and surges through his, washing away the last remnants of Crowley’s spell, and Dean sees her true face—the one that had always remained hidden to him—and now he’s in shock, utterly in awe of the raw power before him.

 

“Sariel?” he whispers.

 

Her eyes are sad.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry I never told you.”

He grips her arm, jerking forward.

“Wait—“

But she presses her hand to his cheek, and within an instant he’s gone.

 

Charlie lowers her hand, her head dipping slightly. She takes a deep breath, then straightens, turning to face the shaking doors.

She stands slowly, a sword sliding from her sleeve, the color of copper.

 

“Okay, Abby,” she whispers.

 

 

 

“Come and get me.”

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of shit. (minor/offscreen) character death, mostly.

“Cas? Cas—you there?”

 

Castiel breathes shallowly, covering his mouth with his hand.  
“Y-yeah,” he answers. “Yeah. I'm here.”

 

Anna’s sigh comes in a rush of harsh static, hurting his ears.  
“Zeke and Hannah are okay,” she says. “Just got there in time, ripped three demons off them—”

“Shit,” he murmurs.

“But Hannah’s unconscious, one of them threw her, so we’re driving to the hospital now—”

“Are you okay?” He asks sharply.

“Yeah, Cas. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

 

Castiel exhales harshly, tightening his grip on the phone. There’s a brief silence, broken only by the sound of his jagged breaths.

“But, Cas—”

She stops. A sharp twist of dread stabs through him.

“Hael...is she—is she okay? Did she make it?"

 

Castiel closes his eyes. He can barely breathe through the thick copper smell of blood staining the room.

There's a sharp curse on the other end.

“Goddammit,” Anna whispers. “God _dammit_.”

 

Castiel shakes his head, pressing the back of his hand to his lips.

"I'm sorry," he grits out. "I was too late, I couldn't—"

"No," she breathes. "This is not your fault. It's mine."

 

Castiel blinks, his mind sluggishly processing her words.

“What—what are you talking about—”

Anna snarls on the other end, her tone frantic.

"I couldn’t close the gates of Hell, I couldn't keep these bastards locked up—"

Castiel lowers his hand, shaking his head.

"Anna—"

“No, Cas! I’m fucking sick of it!"

 

Castiel doesn’t move. Anna's voice comes again, shaking with barely contained anger.

"How many more friends do we have to bury, Cas? How many people are gonna die because of us?”

“It’s not your fault—"

“Yes, it is,” she snarls back. "We could've warned them, we could've done something, we should've—"

She cuts off abruptly. Castiel feels a dark chill settle through him.

“We're going to finish this,” she says darkly.

Castiel can't move.

 

"I’ll meet you at the cabin," Anna growls. "And then we’re gonna get the son of a bitch that murdered Hael.”

 

She hangs up without another word. Castiel slowly lowers the phone, his fingers clenched tight around it.

 

He had driven as fast as he could, but still, he was too late. The second he busted down the door, the stench of death hit his nose—and he ran to the bedroom, but he shouldn’t have bothered.

He took one look at Hael’s body and his legs nearly gave out from under him. He barely made it three steps before he was heaving—vomiting up what little remained in his stomach.

She had been carved up in ways Castiel now only saw in his nightmares.

Naomi's calling card.

 

He hastily leaves the scene, his face pale, his hands clammy. He has to get away before anyone shows—knowing the demon’s sick sense of humor, she probably called the police herself. He needs to get out of here.

 

Castiel manages to put the Impala into gear and get onto the road, his palms sweating against the steering wheel.

 

He now knows—she’s the reason. She’s always been the reason.

It had been getting worse for a while now. And perhaps the worst thing is he doesn’t even know what ‘it’ is—it’s like a constant ache in his soul, itching all over. Not in one spot, but just _there,_ and there’s no way he can scratch. It had hit him bad before—fresh out of Hell, nightmares every night, but it had faded into a dull ache when he was with his family, when Dean was by his side, caught up in the hunts and the busy life on the road. But lately, with the sitting and waiting around, the fear, the worry that any day an archangel would come bursting through their door—the anger had come back.

Castiel’s nightmares slowly bled back too—visions of Anna, looking like a junkie with circles under her eyes and marks running down her arms—dead bodies, mangled under his hands, all with Naomi’s soft voice in the background, saying how proud she was.

 

Somehow in his mind they’ve become equated. Naomi was the one who did this to him. She must have twisted something in him, and if he kills her, this will stop.

 

Because he’s tired. Castiel’s so damn tired. Of the apocalypse, of this life, of everyday waking up and knowing it could be the last morning he ever sees. And the only things keeping him sane—Dean, and Anna, they were slowly pulling away from him, they felt farther and farther with each day, and Castiel didn’t have excuses anymore. Excuses for the irrational anger he felt building, always simmering underneath his skin, a constant reminder—the anger that scared him to death, because he didn’t know what would happen if it ever got the better of him.

 

Anna’s wrong. This is Castiel’s fault, and no one else’s. This is all because of him, all for him—the demon using his friends to send her bloody messages. But Castiel’s not going to let this go on any longer.

He presses down on the accelerator, mind churning, how to give his sister the slip, how he’ll find Naomi—

Then he’ll finally get his revenge. And he’s going to take his time.

She’s going to die slow.

 

x

 

He’s pacing the living room when Anna gets back, just making it before the rain.

She shuts the door behind her, moving forward, dropping her pack to the floor. Castiel stands.

“Anna—”

She throws her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

Castiel deflates. He hugs her back, fists bunching up in loose material of her coat. She buries her face in his chest, shoulders shaking.

Neither of them really want to break the embrace, indulging in this selfish moment of comfort. It’s Anna who finally slips from his arms, turning her back so he can’t see her wipe her eyes. He quickly looks away, heavily sitting down on the old couch.

 

The final count had been five—all hunters, all people they had worked with before, through their dad or through their own connections. Some had been retired for years.

They never stood a chance.

 

“Any word on Gabe?” Anna asks quietly.

“No,” Castiel says shakily, but he fumbles for his phone anyway.

It’s been over three hours. It wouldn’t hurt to try again.

“I’ll call him,” he says quietly.

 

He sits heavily on the chair by the door, trying not to will himself to hope.

It rings, once, twice, three times. Castiel closes his eyes, waiting for the inevitable voicemail to pick up.

 

“H-hello?”

 

Castiel bolts up.

“Gabe—shit—Gabriel?”

He flusters, his mind utterly blank.

“Where the _hell_ have you been?”

Anna is at his side in an instant, grabbing the phone from him. She starts yelling into the receiver.

“We've been trying to reach you for days, you dick—”

 

Castiel grabs her wrist and drags her down so they can both press their ears to the earpiece, listening hard. There’s no immediate answer.

“Where are you?” Anna demands.

“I’m, uh,” Gabriel starts, his voice sounding oddly cracked. “I’m in Toronto.”

They both freeze.

“What?” Anna whispers. On the other end, Gabriel swallows.

 

“They went after Mom and Dad.”

 

 x

 

The storm has worsened by the time night falls, rain steadily pelting against the window as Gabe’s car rolls in.

The engine cuts out and Castiel looks at Anna. She’s been biting her nails for the past half hour, but now she stops, throwing a nervous glance at the window. 

The door slams open, and Gabriel walks in, his face stony. Anna stands up quickly, reaching for him.

“Gabe, I’m...I’m so sorry—”

He blows right past her, stalking up to Castiel.

“Where’s Dean?” He growls.

Castiel stops in his tracks, staring at him.

“What?”

Gabriel throws his keys on the table, shucking his dripping coat, speaking furiously.

“Where’s that fucking angel of yours? Huh? Where the hell is Sam? They gonna show their goddamn faces and fix this?”

Anna moves slowly towards him, keeping her voice gentle.

“Gabriel…”

“No!” He shouts, whirling on her. She freezes.

“They healed me, they healed you—they fucking raised him from Hell,” Gabriel snarls, jabbing a finger at Castiel. “So get them here, and make them _do_ something about this.”

Castiel speaks shakily.

“You know what Sam said...some things they can’t—”

“But a little goddamn resurrection?” Gabriel shouts. “Pretty sure that’s in the cards—you were in _Hell_ —”

“Gabriel—”

“What makes you so fucking special?” Gabriel snarls.

Castiel stares at him. Gabriel gives an aborted attempt at a laugh.

“Right—you’re not,” he sneers. “It was just your boyfriend screwing with the entire course of destiny.”

 

Neither of them move. Castiel can barely breathe, fighting the clogged feeling in his throat. Gabriel looks back and forth at the two of them, then snorts, turning his back. He starts gathering up Anna’s guns from the table, grabbing extra boxes of cartridges and shoving them in her bag.

“We’re going after these sons of bitches.”

 

Castiel jerks forwards, shaking his head vehemently.

“Gabriel, no—”

He ignores him. Castiel feels a rising knot of panic in his throat.

“Look, you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

Gabriel continues to pack things into the bag, his hands shaking. Castiel grabs his arm.

“Gabriel, calm down.”

Gabriel whirls, throwing his hand off.

 

“Where the fuck do you get off?”

He shoves him.

“Don’t you dare—”

He shoves him again. Castiel stumbles back, his back hitting the table, nearly falling to his knees. Anna jerks forward, grabbing his shoulder.

“Gabe, stop—”

Gabriel ignores her, shouting down at Castiel.

“Telling _me_ to calm down?” he yells, spit flecking his lips. “You’re the one who’s way too fucking calm—so be honest with us, for the first time since you’ve been back.”

Castiel’s mouth goes dry.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Really?” Gabriel snarls. “Because you’ve been like a goddamn time bomb, Cas, ever since Hell—and right now I got a feeling you know something we don’t.”

Castiel stares up at him, his heart pounding. Fuck—of course Gabe noticed, he knew too, there was something wrong with him—but he can’t tell him about Naomi, he can’t—

 

“If you knew,” Gabriel whispers. “If I find out you knew something and you could've stopped this, I'll—”

He cuts off, unable to continue. Castiel can’t move. It is his fault.

Because he did know. He knew about Naomi and didn't say a word. This is on him.

 

Anna is still pulling vainly at Gabriel’s sleeve, trying to pull him away.

“Gabriel,” she pleads. “Gabe.”

He just rips his arm from her gasp, glaring at her until she shrinks back. She moves to Castiel’s side, and he quickly grabs her hand. 

 

“Look.”

 

Gabriel’s voice is deadly quiet.

“I was on board, okay? Apocalypse, saving the world, the whole nine—”

He sucks in a sharp breath.

“And I knew I didn’t have much chance of getting out of this alive,” he says bitterly. “Hell, probably none of us do.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and Anna and Castiel are frozen, just watching him.

 

Gabriel slowly turns to face them, his face twisted into the deepest agony.

“But my fucking parents, Cas,” he whispers. “Anna—they weren’t part of this, they didn’t need to be—and now they’re dead! They’re dead and I couldn’t—”

He stops, fire flaming in his eyes.

“I just want it to be over. I want all of this to be over.”

 

Anna slowly moves forward, reaching out a placating hand.

“It will be,” she says gently. “Sam and Dean are gonna find the blade, and then we—”

“But you can fucking do something, Anna,” Gabriel whispers. “One spell. That’s all we need.”

Castiel shoves himself up.

“ _No_ ,” he grits out, standing to face him.

“God, not this again—”

“Not that Gabriel!” Castiel yells. “Anything but that!”

“She can do it, she’s got the power—”

“No! I won’t risk her—”

Anna shoves them apart.

“Will you stop fucking talking about me like I’m not here?”

 

That shuts them up. Anna gives Castiel a piercing look, before turning to Gabriel.

“Gabriel, look,” she starts softly. “I know you’re angry. And hurting. They are-they...they were my family, too.”

Gabriel glares down at her, but he doesn’t speak. Anna hesitates, then places a hand on his shoulder.

“But we got two angels on it. We just have to give them time—”

“Just because Cas told you no,” Gabriel growls. “You always do what he says—”

“What show have you been watching?” Castiel mutters.

“No. That’s not the reason why.”

Anna takes a deep breath, speaking slowly.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she finally admits.

She looks up, meeting Gabe’s eyes.

“Last resort, okay?”

Castiel bristles.

“Anna—”

She holds up a hand, pleading. She turns back to Gabriel.

“It won’t bring them back,” she says softly.

 

Gabriel stares back, furious. For a second it looks as if he might hit her.

 

But then, he jerks back, stalking off down the hall. They hear his bedroom door slam. Anna stands in the middle of the room, looking defeated, her shoulders hunching in on herself. Eventually she turns, looking at her brother.

“Cas…”

She stops. There’s nothing to say.

 

Castiel can’t breathe. He feels trapped, suddenly, and he just needs to get away from this.

 

He leaves too. He hears Anna calling after him, but he ignores her. He gets into his own room, shoving the door closed.

 

He swipes the bottle from his bedside table and throws the cap somewhere, falling into his bed.

He stares numbly out the window, clutching to the glass, as if it could offer him some comfort.

His eyes burn, and his throat is tight.

 

Rain pelts against the window, and every so often lightning flashes, burning through his dark room.

It lights him up like a flare, and with every burst of light, he flinches, wishing it would stop.

Everything is washing over him in waves. Anna, Gabe, the blade, the apocalypse, Alastair, fate, god, destiny—

His room flashes white as another bolt strikes the ground, Castiel’s face illuminated briefly in the mirror opposite.

His reflection fades, but still his heart pounds, his head swimming.

Castiel chokes on a harsh laugh, soaking it in another gulp of whiskey.

 

He sinks his head in his hands, his thoughts reeling.

Then comes a voice, clear and sharp in his head.

_Never trust anyone, Castiel. Trust leads to weakness, which leads to betrayal._

His father, scolding him after a hunt gone bad.

 _It’s okay, Castiel,_ the memory of Raphael hisses. _I’ll take care of her real good. Don’t you worry._

Castiel grips his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt.

_Have you seen him these days? He seriously scares me, sometimes._

Dean. He needs to talk to Dean.

_You shouldn’t be hunting anymore._

 

Castiel jerks up from the bed with a harsh yell, throwing the bottle at the wall.

 

It smashes with a sickening sound, echoing loudly in the emptiness. Castiel falls back against the bed, chest heaving. He watches the alcohol trickling down the wall, pooling around the shards of glass. But instead of feeling satisfaction, he only feels horror.

 

Castiel shudders, biting down hard on his knuckles.

He stays frozen in the cold air of his room, not daring to move.

 

He’s been drowning for months, but he’s only just realized it. Right before he’s pulled under the water.

He stays there, hunched over beside his bed. He drags his fingers through his hair, trying to work up the courage to stand.

 

And that’s when he hears her.

 

 

_“CAS!”_

 

He bolts upright.

 

_“CASTIEL—”_

 

A loud crash, and Anna screams, for real this time—and Castiel stumbles upright, throwing himself down the hall. He bursts out into the main room, but he’s not prepared for what he sees.

 

Anna is backing away slowly, eyes fixed on something in front of her. Castiel grabs her waist and she falls back into his arms, shaking violently. He drags his eyes up, his question dying in his throat.

Dean is hunched over in the center of the room, frozen.

 

Castiel doesn’t even think—he bolts for him—but Anna grabs his arm, yanking him back.

“Cas, _wait_ —“

He shakes her off, and that’s when Dean spins, a desperate scream ripping from his throat.

“ _NO—_ “

The lights shatter and Castiel falls back, gasping. Anna grabs his collar and they shield themselves from the falling glass just in time—clinging to each other as it clatters around them, the room shaking violently.

Gabriel runs in, freezing in the doorway when he sees them. Castiel crawls towards Dean, calling his name.

“Dean—“ he shouts. “ _Dean_ —“

Anna screams at him, screams at him to come back, but Castiel doesn’t listen, inching closer.

 

Dean whirls, his eyes blazing with a white-blue fire, grace spinning out of control.

He yells in anguish, and the walls jerk and shudder again.

“Dean—“ Castiel yells, shouting over the noise.

“No, _no_ —“

A lamp explodes to his right, and the windows break, shattering into a thousand pieces.

Dean sobs, his face twisted in agony. Anna scrambles up against the wall, chest heaving with fear and the effort to breathe.

Castiel chokes back a panicked breath, trying to get near Dean again, but he’s wild—thrashing out blindly, the broken lights bursting and splintering again.

“I couldn’t save them, I didn’t—“

Lightning cracks suddenly, and Dean’s face is briefly illuminated—wild with rage and terror.

Castiel inches closer, holding out his hands.

“Dean,” he breathes, keeping his distance. “It’s okay—“

Another flash of his hand, and Castiel is thrown back, panting hard. They both freeze, staring at the new deep gash in Castiel’s shoulder.

Dean pales, scrambling back.

“I—“

He gasps.

“No,” he whispers. “No.”

He finds Castiel’s eyes, horrified.

 

And then he’s gone, the dark room flashing bright as another bolt of lightning lights up the sky.

 

Anna screams at him, but Castiel runs outside into the pouring rain, to see Dean crouched in the grass, hands clutching desperately at the ground.

Thunder echoes through them, and Dean yells again, cursing the sky.

He collapses, and Castiel runs to him.

 

He falls and pulls him into his arms, even as Dean fights and shoves against him—Castiel cradles his head, trying to calm him down.

Dean is shaking, and it’s not from the cold drenching rain.

Castiel holds him, and Dean’s hands scrabble, burying into the mud, holding on in desperation.

 _Sam_ , he cries brokenly, voice lost in the noise.

Castiel tries to comfort him, his own heart breaking. He presses his cheek to Dean’s damp head of hair, wishing he could will away his pain.

Dean lashes out again, and Castiel falls back, the ground shattered. Dean collapses into himself, streaked with dirt and mud as the world cries around them.

 _Charlie,_ he chokes out. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—_

 _Dean_ , he calls, pulling at the back of his shirt.

Dean yells at the night sky, rain blurring the tears on his face.

He falls back into Castiel’s arms, sobbing.

Castiel holds him tight, burying his face into his shoulder.

 

Dean clings to him, mumbling over and over.

_They took him, they have him, I don’t know where, and she’s—I can’t—Cas, please—_

He trembles in his arms, and Castiel closes his eyes, shuddering.

 

 

This is why angels weren’t supposed to care. Because when they care, they tear the world apart.

 

x

 

The next morning finds them all silent. They’re all numb. In shock.

Gabriel is silent and sensitive as a grenade. No one dares speak to him. Anna tries to maintain her calmness, keep the peace, but Castiel knows. They all feel it. Hopeless. Lost.

Dean alternates between moving around in a daze and frenzied bouts of action, even dragging Castiel to the place where it happened, but it’s razed to the ground. Castiel watched as Dean waved a hand over the rubble, murmuring in different languages.

But nothing happened.

 

Dean doesn’t sleep, of course he doesn’t need to—but just past five a.m. he slips into Castiel’s bed, not saying a word. Castiel holds him until he stops shaking.

 

Dean finally tells him what happened, in short stuttering breaths.

Sam had been taken. Charlie had come to the rescue, and gave Dean’s grace a kickstart, sending him safely away while she stayed behind to face Abaddon. To give them some time.

It’s not his fault, of course it isn’t, but Dean’s guilt hangs heavy in his every move, every word, every breath, and nothing Castiel says makes it better.  
Dean refused to say it, but Castiel realizes with a horrible dread what must have happened.

How many have faced the devil and lived?

 

Dean tears through most of their books in the cabin, and even disappears to find some of his own—desperately searching for anything that could track Sam down.

He’s silent, but broken, all his sadness and guilt roiling under his skin, turning him tense and snappish, filled with a burning seething anger.  The only time he softens is when Castiel is with him, when he places a hand on his shoulder, his arm to bring him back. After months of feeling like he was the one about to snap, Castiel is the voice of reason, the calm in the storm. It’s disconcerting. Jarring. Like teetering on the edge of a cliff. They’re all balancing on the edge of a knife and it’s only a matter of time before everything collapses.

 

That night, Dean rolls over and begs Castiel to fuck him. He doesn’t say it’s because he wants to forget, even for just a few minutes. He doesn’t need to.

Afterwards, neither of them feel better, but Castiel is able to selfishly hold him close, Dean trembling in his arms. He cradles Dean’s head to his chest and strokes his hair as he sobs, fighting back tears.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

 

Gabriel still isn’t speaking to Cas, so it’s no surprise that when he enters the room, his conversation with Anna abruptly stops. He turns and leaves without another word. Castiel stands still and silent in the doorway. Anna doesn’t comment.

  


_Sam?_

_We’re looking for you. I hope you know that._

_Hang on._

 

x

 

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. It’s warm here, under the sheets. 

He slides his hand across to the other side of the bed, finding it cold and empty.

Castiel frowns.

“Dean?” He murmurs.

No answer.

Maybe he’s in the back, or sitting up reading again.

 

Castiel sits up, rubbing his eyes. The clock shows some ungodly hour, and he reluctantly pulls on a shirt, yawning. There’s the echo of soft voices from the living room, and he heads in that direction, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

 

“This better fucking work.”

“Gabriel, shut up.”

“It will.”

Gabriel, and Anna. And now Dean, hushed and tense.

“It’s going to work. It has to.”

“Find the blade, and we’ll find Sam,” Anna’s voice says, as Castiel rounds the corner. “It only makes sense.”

 

He stops dead, gaping at the sight in front of him. An altar set up—the one he recognizes from that horrible night in the warehouse—the one that wove its way in and out of his nightmares—with Raphael’s triumphant face and his sister’s dying body.

 

“What the _FUCK?_ ”

 

Anna looks up from her kneeled position, knife in hand, and she pales. Gabriel immediately takes a step back. Dean is standing behind them, his eyes hard.

Before Castiel can say anything else, he’s there—a tight grip on his elbow.

 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean whispers.

 

Castiel feels two fingers on his forehead, and a soft arm catching him as the world sinks into blackness.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a warning: this is super fucking angsty. lots of shit.  
> also nsfw. angry sex.

 

 

 

 

You know, I remember many things.

 

 

 

Adam. Eve. The fall of the Devil. Noah, and Joseph.

But still, there is much that remains hidden from me, shrouded in mystery, dark and cloaked in shadow.

I don’t remember being born. Being created. Coming into life.

 

One moment I wasn’t, and then…I was.

 

 

 _Everything_ was. Within an instant, all the knowledge of the world, the great scope of it, the plan—all was laid out before us. Or…so I was told. But back then, all I saw was beauty. I stood there, in amazement, in awe—the power of our Father, just marveling at it all—and a great rush of feeling washed over me. I came to know it as devotion.

 

It was the first thing I ever felt.

 

 

 

I was not alone.

Father was not unkind. He made us many, the multitudes of Heaven.  

We were different, but we were one. Unique, shifting clouds of power and blossoming thought. Some new and fumbling, others older by only seconds, wise beyond infinity.

I remember those first moments, now—Sariel, cradling me in her arms, before she ever called herself Charlie. She was far older than I, and as a fledgling, I hung on her words, desperate for guidance, like a newborn.

What I felt, for my brothers and my sisters, I—I couldn’t call it love. Perhaps…a familial affection. I adored all my siblings equally, there is no doubt of that—it was what we were designed for, it was programmed into our very beings—

But there was something special about the archangel Sariel. So honey-sweet, great lavender wings stretched over my head—and I knew, the moment her hands clasped around mine—that I would follow her to the ends of the earth.

When she disappeared, I learned pain.

 

 

And for a while, I simply remained in Heaven.

 

Shifting aimlessly, among waves of shimmering power, beams of light, endless and infinite in space and time.

Then one moment, for we had no days or nights to speak of, a spark brushed up against mine—a pinprick of soft light, demanding my attention.

I spoke to it, not in the Latin that was already so common amongst the humans, but the oldest language. 

I asked its name. And it responded.

 

 

 _Sammael,_ the cloud rumbled softly.

_Yeah,_ I said back. _I’m gonna call you Sammy._

 

 

 

 

And everything was peaceful. For a while.

 

We continued to observe the world below us. We were there—when the first humans spilled out onto the earth beneath us, fumbling, desperately struggling to make sense of their new world. And none of us could intervene. We could only watch.

We all watched, with a sort of curiosity, with a sort of pity—because none of us really knew what to make of them.

Sam stood by my side, studying them with an endless fascination. I myself felt a strange sort of pull towards the earth below, but I always beat back the urge.

It was not allowed.

 

 

 

Then the war came. And everything changed.

 

 

If left us all in shock, when we were told. That Abaddon had rebelled.

None of us particularly felt a strong devotion to the humans—we were still figuring out what they were, what they meant—but _this_ —

This was unforgiveable. No one ever disobeyed. No one.

 

Alastair was the one to lead us. The champion of Heaven. We all bowed our heads and did as we were told, never questioning his words.

For he said—and I had no choice but to believe him—that Father was speaking through him. So I trusted. And obeyed.

Because any orders from God could be nothing but pure. Nothing but good.

 

 

But there were those that disagreed.

 

Sam was one of them.

 

 

It broke my heart, when I found out. I thought I had known pain, but this—this was a thousand times worse.

Betrayal.

 

Sam joined Abaddon’s side, along with maybe a dozen others. Those in Heaven beat their breasts and called them traitors. And I, obedient son, had no choice but to join them.

Before, I had never seen any reason to challenge my orders. God was good, Heaven was good—the mission was good. But with the war—I finally, perhaps inevitably—started to doubt. According to my father, Sam was wrong. Abaddon was wrong. Heaven’s brightest jewel, now tarnished and thrown in the pit to rot. And what for? To remind us of obedience?

 

I kept my head down, and wilted under Alastair’s watchful gaze, though my newly developing conscience buzzed with questions.

 

_Why?_

_Why, why, why…_

 

 

One day, with a pang, I realized—

The orders might not be coming from my Father after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only later, on the battlefield, did I face him again.

The world was torn, broken and soaked in fire—and we met on the ruined plain, sibling against sibling.

 

 

 

Forced to raise my blade against my own brother, I…I just couldn’t.

 

_I was tricked_ , Sam begged, through bloodied lips, his vessel broken and bleeding. _Please._

_Dean, please._

_Believe me._

 

 

 

And I did.

Many angels would not have. But Sam—

I knew he only spoke the truth.

 

 

 

It didn’t matter. They still locked him away.

 

 

 

And then, Father left.

 

We waited in vain for him to return. Waited, for years and years, while the world below changed and burned with unnecessary grief and war. The braver ones among us whispered, wondered how we could stand by and let such suffering continue. Those whispers were silenced with a look—sometimes painful warnings.

Alastair did not permit such mutterings in his Heaven.

 

 

So we waited, silently, keeping our vigil.

 

But He never came back.

 

 

 

 

 

And eventually, all became calm.

Calm for a thousand years. I stayed in Heaven, almost passing into oblivion.

 

 

Time is fluid. It shifts and works—and for the longest time, I was nothing but a speck in the sea. A spark of energy in the roiling flood of life that was my family.

And then I was called.

My true name, they whispered. I came forth, kneeling before them, though I had no body to kneel.

 

 _You are chosen,_ the voices said. _A guardian._

 _A guardian,_ I murmured.

_Anna._

_Anna,_ I repeated.

_Much will come to pass in her time. She will be more important than you know._

_Go forth and guard._

 

 

 

I opened my eyes, and I took a deep breath.

And I fell.

 

 

I had no idea what to expect. The only things I knew were from my brothers, my sisters, the few glimpses I had managed to get of the humans. No one dared say a word against them, not after what happened to Abaddon—but that didn’t mean we didn’t wonder.

Perhaps our father left a little curiosity in us after all.

 

And now I was to watch over one of them.

 

 

There are bloodlines for each angel, of course—genes and bodies we are most suited to—and the best available vessel for me at the time was a young male, locked away inside his head, in a coma, barely alive.

It was easy to convince him.

 

I felt nearly nothing when I slid into his skin, sitting up in that hospital bed, taking in the shocked faces of the doctors and nurses around me. I had a job to do. I could not think of the soul lying dormant inside me.

 

 

Because even in those first few minutes, I was needed.

 

 

Too early, not enough weight—her tiny lungs struggling to breathe in a world she was forced into too soon.

I pressed a finger to Anna’s forehead, still slick with her mother’s blood. Barely five minutes old, and already I saved her from death. I did not yet know how many times I would have to save her in the short years to come.

 

Over and over again, from an abusive stepfather. A close call with a busy street. A strange man with a dark car. Then, her sudden entrance into a dangerous new life. I was conflicted when I found out, that her father was the sort of man who knew about the creatures that haunted the dark—and not only that—he hunted them. I did not wish her to be blind, but I wanted her safe. And as she got older, she was allowed on the more dangerous hunts, her family always marveling at her luck. Monsters taken out just in time, every shot, slice, stab—missing her by inches.

 

She was my life. My purpose. My charge.

 

I felt for her as I did my own brothers and sisters, perhaps as strongly as I did for Sam, for Charlie.

 

 

 

Yet, still—I remained faithful. I obeyed even as I stayed on Earth. I spoke to no one, never revealed my presence. I operated under the belief that I was protecting my charge.

I would watch in earnest, I would protect and keep her safe—all so she could accomplish her divine task.

Because God had a plan for her. He was to bring her happiness and keep her safe.

But I was wrong.

 

 

 

I’m not proud. I will never defend what I did.

I saw Anna falling into that dark trap, and I never lifted a finger. Something within me knew it was bad for her, but there were too many voices in my head. Orders, my superiors—what I had come to accept as absolute truth—screaming of fate and destiny. I bowed my head, smothered original thoughts and my own conscious—the feelings and beliefs I had stubbornly acquired in these short few years on earth.

 

Some part of me hoped she would come to her senses and be done with it. But I was not there. I was gone.

After the gate was opened, I abandoned her. Those four months, I was down in Hell—battling for her brother, but so was she—practicing, growing stronger, hoping to bring him back from the very same fate she had condemned him to.

I did not know this at the time, of course. She confessed it to me, late in the night, before she begged to help, to use her dangerous skills to do something.

And I agreed.

 

There has always been a dark side to the Remingtons, a cool twisted thing of rage and hate, hidden beneath their better qualities—their strength, their fearlessness, their bravery. And there was a dark thing growing inside her.

The monster Raphael found it. He seized upon that weakness and turned her towards something even worse.

During her time with the demon, Anna managed to fight it off—she kept it at bay—barely. Castiel was not so lucky.

 

Castiel.

 

 

My own weakness, my own Trojan horse. I sensed it on his soul the minute I laid a hand on him in Hell. But I was selfish.

After years of silently standing by his side, here was my chance, my _time_ —I could finally appear to him, speak to him, hear him say my name.

 

Castiel made me want to be human. To want emotion.

With Anna, I understood humans. With Castiel, I understood love.

 

 

I raised him from that horrible place, but I did not tell him what I knew.

I did not tell him, for I falsely believed my presence could keep that latent hate at bay. I never saw the warning signs. Or perhaps I chose to ignore them.

The slight edge of hardness to his words. The fear in his eyes. Perhaps he had already realized just how his time below had poisoned him.

But oh god, Oh my father. Forgive me.

He’s my brother, my _family_ —what else could I do?

 

 

 

 

When Anna came to me, offered up her own special type of skill, I could not refuse.

It was the one thing I promised myself I would never let happen again. To open up old wounds, to let her do this for me.

But she, so much like her brother, agreed without a hesitation.

Anything to help those she loves.

 

 

She went to great lengths for her flesh and blood. Perhaps it is no accident I was chosen to be her guardian. We are more alike than I will ever know.

She offered her help, and my resolve was only so strong.

But Anna is strong, too.

She will not be harmed by the spell.

 

I know they’ll never take me back. My own family cast me out—I now only have this small part left, carved out with blood and pain—and I will _die_ before I ever let anything take it away from me.

 

There are only a handful of souls left in the world that I can trust. And I still can’t guarantee their safety. Not even my own.

I couldn’t save Charlie. I have to save Sam. Even if that means taking revenge against those who caused this.

 

 

 

 

 

And my motives used to be so pure.

 

 

 

 

The minute Anna revealed the location, I was gone. They never saw me coming, and perhaps that was the only reason we succeeded.

Sam was not irrevocably harmed, but he had undergone extensive torture at the hands of Crowley. Needles stuck in his brain, the secrets of the angels ready to be sold off to the highest bidder.

I made sure he died slow.

 

We slaughtered them all. And walked out with the blade.

 

 

But at what cost?

 

 

Cas…he will see that everything I did was for my brother. For family.

Surely he can understand what that’s like. He will understand.

Right, Father? He will understand?

 

 

I need him to understand.

 

He has to.

 

Tell me—Father. Was I….was I right?

And if not, can I be forgiven?

 

 

Father…please. I—I need to know.

 

 

 

 

 

…Father?

 

 

 

 

 

Father?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

x

He wakes up.

 

Castiel struggles up to his elbows, shaking his head to clear it.

There’s a raging fire searing in his brain, but he can’t remember exactly why.

He presses his palms to his eyes, disoriented.

He blinks and takes in the dark room, the floor in front of him, and—

A dark pool of blood.

He bolts up, screaming for her.

“ _ANNA!_ ”

 

There’s no answer.

 

He stumbles through the rooms of the cabin, but there’s no trace of them. He stalks back into the main room, his vision hazed slightly red.

He falls upon the makeshift altar, ripping it apart, and it isn’t long before the thing is in ruins. He whirls and upends the table behind him, sending the books there flying, everything else shattering in its wake. The force of his rage surprises even him and he falls back, panting.

As he stares at the ruined room before him, something dark and black settles in his gut, and it scares him even more than the rage.

 

He stands calmly, pulling out his phone and swiftly dialing the number.

He holds the phone to his ear with steady fingers.

He closes his eyes when he answers.

“Gabriel,” he says coldly. “Where is she?”

 

x

 

He pulls into the hospital parking lot, almost numb. At the front desk of the hospital, he finds there is one Anna Remington checked in, room 620.

 

Gabriel’s in there too, standing next to her where she’s hunched on the bed, her arms covered in bandages. They both look up at the rattle of the door, Anna paling when she sees him. Gabriel quickly moves forward, raising a hand.

 

“Cas—“

“Out,” Castiel whispers, not looking at Gabe. 

Gabriel stops, but he doesn’t move from his place in between them.

“Cas,” he starts. “Look. We—“

“This is your last warning, Gabriel,” Castiel says lowly. “Get out or I throw you out.”

 

 

For a moment, Gabriel doesn’t move. He glances briefly back at Anna, his eyes narrowed. She gives a tiny nod.

 

Gabriel's expression hardens, his jaw clenched. Then without another word, he slams out the door, blinds shuddering in his wake. Castiel doesn’t care. He just stares at her.

Anna crosses her arms, shifting back and forth on the bed.

“Fuckers almost put me on suicide watch,” she mumbles, eyes not meeting his.

 

Castiel flicks his eyes briefly downward, but he barely feels anything at the sight of Anna’s arms, wrapped in gauze. There’s a camera in the upper corner of the room, red light glaring down at them like an unblinking eye. Castiel wants to smash it.

 

 

He takes slow, even breaths, almost terrified at the calm stillness in his bones. A cool, simmering hatred, and it only keeps building as he remembers. The first time, when his sister left him, chose a demon over her own family—all that hurt and pain he had tried to push down and shove away was surfacing again, refusing to be silent.

But perhaps even worse is that Dean knew.

Dean lied to him.

 

 

“Cas,” Anna says softly.

 

He doesn’t answer her.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

He closes his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Anna says again, quieter. “I messed up, I know.”

His fingers twitch, but he can’t get his tongue to work.

“Can you say something?” She says quietly. “Please?”

 

 

Castiel takes a deep breath. In. Out.

 

Then he opens his eyes, slowly, finally addressing her.

“What do you want me to say?”

She swallows. Those wide eyes are on his, and Castiel has to turn his head.

He breathes again.

 

“How long?”

 

She shifts, uncomfortable on the starchy hospital sheets.

“Cas, listen—“

“You’ve been doing this since before I came back,” he mutters. “Even after I told you to stop.”

She looks down, her fingers nervously spreading over the cotton. Castiel feels something like bile, rising in his throat, and he wants to retch.

“And he—“

He stops, digging his nails into his palms.

 

“Dean let you do this,” he whispers.

 

 

The slow beep of the monitors fills the empty air of the room.

 

 

“No. It was—it was my idea.”

 

 

Castiel looks up sharply. Anna tries to lift a hand, but the tube snaking into her arm restrains her, and she lets it fall back to the bed. She takes a deep breath.

“It was my idea,” she repeats slowly. “And okay, yeah, I lost control for a minute, but Cas—come on—“

She gives a weak laugh.

“I’m here, aren’t I? I made it out okay—“

Castiel growls.

“What were you fucking  _thinking_ —“

“Sam was in danger," she snaps.

“So you risked all of this for—“

“He’s my friend, too.”

Anna sits up, wincing a little as she does so.

“I wasn’t going to leave him there. Not when I could do something,” she says, stubbornly proud. “Nobody gets left behind, remember?”

 

Castiel closes his eyes, fighting against the pounding pain in his temple.

 

“Look.”

 

Anna’s voice is soft, and he almost wants to forgive her. But that irrational burning fire keeps building in his veins, and with every word, Castiel’s struggling to keep his mind straight.

  

“It’ll be fine," she says. "I know it—Dean’s probably found him already, and the blade, and they'll be back any minute—“

Castiel whirls.

“But what if he doesn't? What if he gets captured? Or _killed_?” He shouts.

His stomach swoops suddenly, at the thought of Dean, Dean bloody, Dean hurt, his eyes blank and staring—

 

“ _Damn it_ , Anna!” Castiel shouts, slamming his hand against the wall.

 

 

He stops abruptly, seeing the outline of people peering curiously at their window in the door. He quiets, clenching his fists until the shadowy figures shake themselves and keep moving, and they’re alone again.

 

“Did you think this out at all?” He hisses under his breath. “Jesus, did any of you stop to fucking think—“

“He’s fine,” Anna says firmly. “I know he is.”

“You could have died,” he seethes.

“Well, I _didn’t_ ,” she shoots back.

 

Castiel stares at her, his heart hammering. He does want rational. He doesn’t want this. He knows Anna’s okay now, that she’s not going to die—but he still wants someone to blame. He wants to yell and scream at her, wants to lash out, hurt her for the hurt she did to him.

 

“How long?” He breathes again.

 

 

She doesn’t answer for a minute. The she exhales, a long, shuddering breath.

“Don’t be mad,” she whispers.

He wants to laugh. They’re way fucking past that at this point.

 

“I never stopped.”

 

Castiel whips his head around. Anna holds up her hands, rushing to explain.

“Because—I thought, if I practiced, got stronger—then I could—”

She stops.

“Bring you back,” she confesses finally.

 

 

Castiel is frozen. He knew it— _he knew it_ —there was no way she would ever have given up, she had been doing all she could to pull him out—be damned the consequences.

 

“Bring me back?” He repeats, horrified. “After _everything?_ After I _told_ you—“

“To let it go?” Anna interrupts, her voice rising. “You really think I could?”

“Anna—“

“I didn’t want it!” She shouts. “I didn’t want some normal life, I wanted you!”

 

 

Anna is almost crying.

“You’re my brother, and I—“

She stops, hiccupping. Castiel stares at her.

“You have no idea,” she mutters. “What it was like without you.”

 

Castiel can’t breathe. Every breath in feels like a stab, a jagged pain in his lungs, twisting the knife further.

“I couldn’t fucking eat, couldn’t sleep—so don’t tell me that—don’t tell me I’m did this because of some stupid grand self-sacrificing _bullshit_ ,” she chokes out. “I know how it feels, to lose someone, I’m never going to do that to you—“

“It’s fucking different,” Castiel snaps. “You can’t control it, Anna—you said that yourself—"

“That’s why we have to do something!” She yells. “Before it’s too late!”

 

Castiel stares at her.

"What?" He whispers.

Anna is trembling.

“I have things to give too, Cas,” she says, her eyes brimming with tears. “There’s people that I love. That I would die for—”

Castiel steps back, shaking his head in horror, but she doesn’t stop.

“You don’t think I'm willing to give my life for Dad? Gabe? You?” She asks, white-knuckled fists gripping the sheets around her. “For this whole fucking planet?”

 

Castiel’s mouth goes dry.

 

“What are you saying?” He whispers.

 

Anna’s tone hardens.

“That wasn’t the only spell I can use,” she says.

 

 

Castiel balks.

_“What?"_

“I’ve known for a while,” she admits slowly. “It was that white-eyed demon—‘ _can’t have you getting too strong_ …’”

He sucks in a breath. Naomi. What—?

Anna looks up.

“Don’t you see?” she whispers hoarsely. “I can open the gate again. Shove Abaddon back in the box.”

 

 

 

Castiel doesn’t move.

 

“No,” he whispers.

 

“Cas—“

 _“Are_ you out of your goddamn _mind_?”

“Think about it—"

Anna spreads her hands.

"It’s foolproof—we have the blade, we open the portal—we can force Abaddon back in. No apocalypse, no nothing. The whole plan short circuits!”

Castiel can't stop shaking his head, sputtering vehemently.

" _No_ —that's not—you can't—"

She reaches towards him, her tone pleading.

“Yes, I _can_. Cas—I can do this. And save a hell of a lot of people—“

“And if you die—"

"I'm okay with that," she says shakily. "It's worth it—"

" _NO_ —Anna—nothing is worth losing you—"

" _Why_?" She yells. “Why am I so worth saving?” 

 

Castiel takes a jerky step back, his voice dying in his throat. 

He can’t think, just shakes his head, everything in him screaming against it. _Protect your sister, watch out for Anna, don’t—_

“I’m no fucking better than anyone else," Anna grits out, eyes screwed shut. "After all the shit I’ve pulled? I can’t ever make up for that."

She doesn't blink, her eyes never leaving his.

"The one thing I can do is put the bitch back where she belongs," she whispers. "I have to."

 

 

Castiel can't breathe.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispers. “Don’t you fucking dare say that.”

 

“Fuck—Cas, will you _listen_ to me?” Anna yells, and Castiel is surprised by her sudden vehemence.

She shoves back the sheets, standing clumsily.

“For once in your fucking life—“

She rips the IV and sensors off her skin and the monitors start going crazy, beeping and screaming at them.

“Not your sister, not your damn ‘job’—“

Anna stands, facing him.

“Listen to _me_ ,” she whispers.

 

Castiel stares at her, breathing heavily. She shakes her head slowly.

 

“I want this,” she says gently. “You gotta let me do it.”

Castiel is numb.

“You can’t ask that of me.”

“I have to.”

“Anna—“

“And don’t you dare tell me I can’t. You’re a lot of things, Cas, but I never thought hypocrite would be one of them.”

“Anna…it’s different—“

“How!" She yells. "How is it different?”

 

Castiel snarls, but he has no response. She laughs bitterly.

“Jesus! Is this the same man?” She mocks derisively. “The one always yelling about being kept on the sidelines, about being _useless_?”

A hot pit of anger burns red hot in his gut, and Castiel snarls.

“Go to hell,” he snaps.

“You’ve already been,” she shouts back. “Why don’t you tell me how it was!”

 

 

They stare at each other, fists clenched. Castiel hears the scramble of nurses and doctors, rushing towards their room, and he hardens.

He turns quickly, snatching his keys from the table.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” She snarls.

“You’re my sister, not my mother,” he snaps. “Fuck off.”

 

 

 

Castiel slips out of the room before anyone can stop him, slamming the door to the Impala and driving off into the dark night.

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel isn’t really sure what he’s doing.

He’s just blindly driving, tearing away from the bright light of that hospital room.

The pain in his temple is building, thrumming constantly against his skull, and he grits his teeth, trying to block it out—

He opens his eyes and swerves, barely avoiding a large rock in the path up to the cabin.

He screeches to a halt and falls out of the car, scrambling away from it.

 

He slams the door behind him, chest heaving.

The clock just inside the front door tells him it’s 1:13 am.

It’s dark.

 

He takes a step forward, and stiffens. Despite his anger, his instincts tell him he’s not the only thing in the room.

 

 

Castiel silently pulls his gun, leveling it at the man.

Then he turns, and Castiel mouth falls open.

 

_“Sam—?”_

The angel’s face breaks out into a relieved smile.

“Cas—“

He stands, a little shakily.

“Can’t tell you how glad I am to see you,” Sam breathes.

 

He tries a step forward, but he winces, nearly stumbling. Castiel rushes forward, grabbing his arm.

“Hey, hey—“

He can see now, the rips and tears in Sam’s clothes, the cuts in his skin—and he quickly ushers him back to the chair, shaking his head.

“Just take it easy, okay?” he says, checking over his wounds. “Here, let me—“

Sam seizes his wrist.

“Cas—wait.”

He takes a couple deep breaths, his matted hair falling in his face.

“There’s still—demons—a couple followed us, Dean thinks they might be hiding out in the junkyard—“

Castiel goes numb. His hands still, and Sam’s explanation fades into the background, his ears filled with a dull roaring sound.

 

 

“—Cas?”

 

Sam’s hand touches his shoulder. Castiel shakes himself, looking up.

 

“Yeah,” he mutters. He quickly tucks away his gun, hands shaking as he stands, heading for the med kit. “We’ll deal with them later.”

He grabs the kit, trying to shove his emotions aside, letting his hunter’s training kick in. Deal with the injury. Don’t let anything else get in the way.

“Let's just take care of you," Castiel says shakily. “Especially, after what happened—“

He cuts off at the look in his eyes.

 

“I—I know,” Sam says quietly.

The angel slumps back in his chair, his breath shallow.

“If…if Dean hadn’t found me when he did—”

He trails off, eyes dropping to the floor.

  

Castiel swallows. He sets the kit on the table, opening it up and quickly kneeling by Sam’s side. He’s just grabbing the bottle of antiseptic from the box when there’s a slight rustle of movement behind Sam. Castiel glances up—and freezes.

He stares at him, unable to move.

He glares back, green eyes unreadable.

 

 

Sam is struggling to sit up, his face tightening in pain.

“He told me, you know—about what Anna did.”

He looks around, that tired smile fighting through.

“Where is she, anyway? I need to thank her.”

 

Some part of Sam’s words reach Castiel, but he can’t answer. He just stares.

At Dean.

Dean. Standing next to a shiny and oddly twisted black blade, his eyes fixed on Castiel.

 

Heat seizes up his spine so fast he thinks he’s going to snap.

 

 

 

“You son of a bitch,” Castiel whispers.

 

 

The smile drops off Sam’s face.

“Cas…?”

 

Castiel ignores him.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” he says again, tightening the grip on the bottle. He has half a mind to throw it at him.

Sam clears his throat, looking between the two of them.

“Hey, uh—guys…” he starts uncertainly.

“Stay out of this, Sam,” Dean snaps.

Sam flinches, but he doesn’t move.

 

“Dean,” he says. “Whatever you—“

Dean is at his side in an instant, hissing in his ear.

“Go,” he snaps.

 

Sam flicks his eyes to Castiel, about to say something—

His hand releases the arm of the chair, his mouth tightening into a thin line.

Then he disappears.

 

 

 

Castiel shakily sets the bottle of antiseptic on the table, pushing himself up.

 

“Cas.”

 

He can’t breathe.

 

 

“Look. I know you’re pissed. But let me explain—”

Castiel whirls.

“Explain _what_?”

Dean raises his hands.

“I know, I know it was fucking shitty of me, but Sam—“

“Well,” Castiel snarls. “Guess it’s good to know where your loyalties lie.”

 

Dean stops, staring at him.

“What the hell are you talking about—“

“Glad we cleared this up,” Castiel mutters. “Now I know. You’ll always put your family before us. Before Anna.”

_Before me._

 

 

Dean growls, stalking around the table.

“Cas—“

Castiel almost bolts, but then Dean is in front of him, his fists clenched, glaring down at him.

“I never disobeyed an order in my life, in my _existence_ ,” he snarls. “And then you—then there was you, and everything I knew, everything I thought I knew—“

He cuts off, his chest heaving.

“We weren’t supposed to happen, Cas,” he says, his voice choked. “But—but Sam—“

Dean turns his head, taking in a deep breath.

“He’s my brother,” he begs. “You can’t ask me to choose—“

“I’m not trying to!” Castiel shouts. “I just thought I could fucking _trust_ you for once.”

He calms slightly, letting out a bitter laugh.

“But apparently I was wrong about that too."

“Why—what the _fuck_?”

“You’ve never cared,” Castiel seethes. “All that shit about me being human—it was just a fucking excuse to keep us away, wasn’t it? We’re obviously nothing to you.”

Dean stares at him incredulously. Then his face twists, and he barks out a derisive laugh, which only serves to incense Castiel further.

“Cas, are you serious? God, that is so fuckin’ far from the truth—“

“But you knew!” he yells. Dean freezes, and Castiel flares in angry triumph.

“Oh, god, you _knew._ You fucking knew Anna was doing this shit, you knew I didn’t want her to, and you kept that from me! You lied! _Again_!”

Dean grits his teeth.

“Cas—if you’d just give her a chance—“

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me—“

“She knows what she’s doing!” Dean yells.

Castiel shakes his head.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” he hisses.

 

Dean straightens, and the air around them seems to pulse with an unexplained heat, crackling in its intensity.

“She knows what she’s doing,” he says again, his tone low and dangerous. “I try to protect her, because that’s my goddamn job—but I don’t interfere. Because I actually trust her, instead of fucking control her, like you—“

Castiel whirls, hackles raising.

“ _Control her_? Are you _kidding_ me?”

Dean growls, his temper flaring at Castiel’s words.

“You’re so concerned about saving her, you don’t care about _her_.”

“Look who’s talking, asshole,” Castiel fires back.

 

Dean is silent, eyes hot and challenging.

“That’s different,” he finally says. “You’re…”

“What? I’m _what_!” Castiel yells.

Dean hesitates.

“Cas, c’mon—you’re human—“

“And so what if I am?” Castiel shouts back. “I’m a delicate snowflake? Fragile? A goddamn _liability_?”

“ _YES!”_ Dean explodes.

 

 

They stare at each other. Castiel shakes his head, something hot and acidic choking his throat.

 

Dean sputters, trying to backtrack.

“C’mon…you know I can’t protect you all the time, and I—“

“You fucking bastard,” Castiel mumbles. He steps back, swallowing hard. Dean moves towards him and he backs away, placing the table between them.

Dean halts abruptly, fuming.

“Cas, I’m not going to lose you—”

“You’re starting to!” Castiel snarls.

 

 

They glare at each other, chests heaving.

Dean breaks.

“Cas…”

But Castiel angrily cuts him off.

“Fuck you,” he hisses. “Should have said that a long time ago. Fuck. You.”

“Cas, please—“

Dean catches his arm, and Castiel freezes.

“It’s over,” he breathes. “It’s done. Sam’s okay.”

Castiel laughs, slow and dangerous.

“Oh. It is, is it?”

He slowly turns to face him.

“So then where’s Anna?”

 

Dean pauses.

“What?” He asks hesitantly.

Castiel doesn’t answer him. He rips his arm out of his grip and stalks towards his room.

Dean runs after him.

“Cas, what do you mean? What happened to Anna?”

When he realizes Castiel isn’t going to answer him, Dean plants a hand on the wall, blocking his path.

“Where is she?”

Castiel jerks to a halt, fixing him with a ruthless stare.

“Anna nearly bled to death after your precious _spell_ ,” he snaps. “Guess you were too focused on your brother to remember you’re supposed to be her guardian.”

Dean is horrified.

 

“Cas,” he breathes. “I—I didn’t know, I didn’t feel her—“

Castiel doesn’t listen. He ducks his arm and bangs open the door to his room.

 

“Cas, _Cas_ —“

He appears in his path and Castiel jerks back, breathing hard. He grits his teeth.

“Get out of my way.”

“Where are you going?”

“Fuck off.”

 He shoves past him and grabs his bag, quickly throwing in supplies. Dean is silent and still behind him.

“Cas, don’t go.”

 

Castiel freezes.

 

 

“You said you wouldn’t read my mind,” he whispers hoarsely.

Dean is quiet.

“Whatever you think those demons can tell you, you’re wrong,” he breathes. “You won’t find anything.”

Castiel doesn’t respond. He picks up his gun and loads a fresh clip, viciously sliding it home.

“They wouldn’t tell you anyway,” Dean says softly.

 

Castiel clenches his fingers around the gun.

“I’ll make them talk,” he says, a vicious sense of pride flaring through him. “If there’s one thing I learned from Hell, it’s the ability to get what I want.”

Dean glares at him. Castiel snorts disdainfully, turning away from him.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know you’ve done worse.”

 

Dean stands so quickly that Castiel falters, taking a step back.

“I am not allowing you to do that.”

Dean’s eyes are as hard as iron. Castiel stares at him, speechless. Then something in him snaps, and he stalks forward, raging at him.

“Allow— _allowing me_? Are you fucking serious—”

“You’re not going, Cas.”

“This is not a fucking debate—“

“You are not going, and that’s final,” Dean thunders, towering over him.

Castiel stares at him, speechless.

“I’m going to get Anna,” Dean snarls. _“Stay here.”_

He whirls and disappears.

 

Castiel stares blindly at the wall, his blood hot and thick in his ears. He presses a hand against the doorframe, slowly curling his fist.

He snaps, slamming his hand against the wall. He ignores the throb that shoots up his arm as he shoves the rest of his shit into a duffle, checking over his shoulder. He only has a couple of minutes.

He grabs his bag and runs back out the front door, quickly sliding into the Impala. He gets the keys in the ignition and speeds away, breathing hard.

Fuck this. Fuck Dean and his ridiculous crusade. Castiel didn’t need him to keep him safe. He had been taking care of himself for more than twenty years before he met him. He didn’t need a fucking babysitter.

 

 

He knows it’s a bad idea. It’s a fucking terrible idea—but it’s been festering in his mind, ever since Hael died. He’s going to find Naomi.

And those demons Sam mentioned, skulking around the junkyard? They’re his golden ticket.

Tonight, they’re going to die.

 

He learned from the best. So he’s going to loosen a demon’s tongue—find Naomi and kill her for good.

 

 

x

 

He gets to their lair in no time at all, thankfully with no angel on his heels. He walks in, unafraid, Raphael’s knife in hand—and makes quick work of it. There’s three of them, but he dispatches the first two easily, trapping the last one.

 

By the time it drags itself back into consciousness, Castiel’s already got it bound, standing before it, turning over the knife in his hands.

The demon sneers.

“Castiel Remington,” it purrs. “To what do I owe the pleasure—“

Castiel slices its cheek cleanly, and the demon howls, the wound glowing orange.

 

He works slowly, a couple more strategic cuts, bathing some in holy water. He patiently waits out the demon's screams, and when it’s done, it hunches over in his chair, fixing him with hateful eyes.

“What do you want?” It hisses.

Castiel smiles, calmly wiping his blade.

“What? Had enough already?”

 

He steps around the demon’s chair, contemplating his next cut.

The demon eyes him warily—and when Castiel seizes its chin, it chokes, struggling to speak.

“No—I—wait—“

“I need to have a little chat with your boss,” he hisses, grabbing the flask full of salt. “So—tell me. Or you get a mouthful.”

He jams it to the demon’s lips—but it quickly sputters, shaking its head.

“Wait— _wait_ —“

Castiel draws back slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m listening.”

 

He waits as the demon pants in front of him, arms uselessly pulling at their ties. Slowly, slowly, the demon raises its head, black eyes fixing on his.

Its lips curl into a smile.

“Bite me,” it snarls.

 

Castiel doesn’t react. He just smiles cruelly, turning back to his supplies.

“Looks like you and I are in for a long night, then.”

 

He grabs the flask again, coating Raphael’s knife with salt.

 

“Pathetic human,” the thing spits.

 

Castiel ignores it.

“What a waste of breath you are,” it pants, glaring at him. “Even Hell spat you back out.”

 

Castiel closes his eyes, reluctantly laying the blade back on the table. It wouldn’t do him any good to lose his temper now—to snap and stab the demon. Then he’d be back at square one.

He slowly turns to face him.

 

“So. Sounds like there something you don’t want to tell me,” he murmurs.

The demon cocks its head, sneering up at him.

"Well. There  _is_ something I heard." _  
_

Castiel pauses.

"What?" He asks flatly.

 

The demon smiles.

“Heard your auntie and uncle died,” it sneers, its lips dribbling blood. “Tell me, what’s it like to know that it's _your_ fault your whole family is dead?”

Castiel stiffens. The demon leers.

“Died screaming, they did,” it purrs. “Begging for her to stop—“

 

 

Castiel punches him. The demon chokes, neck cracking loudly as it turns back to face him.

“Touchy, touchy,” it whispers.

 

Castiel seizes its throat, and it chokes, helpless against him. He tightens his grip.

“I’m gonna ask, one last time.”

 

He leans down low, his rage seething in every syllable.

“Where is Naomi?”

 

But the demon just sneers.

“You can’t do a thing to hurt me,” it hisses. “You’re nothing.”

Castiel’s other hand seizes its collar, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Useless,” it spits. “Just an angel’s little whore.”

 

Castiel’s fist slams into its nose. The demon cries out in pain—and Castiel rips it from its chair, slamming it to the ground, his vision hazed over red.

He hits it, over and over again, until he hears something crack under his hands.

Something crows in vicious victory inside him—and he immediately falls back, gasping, scrambling away from the limp and mangled demon at his feet.

He chokes back a sob.

Oh god, oh god, what was _wrong_ with him—

 

He hunches over, gasping for breath.

Then two bloody hands wrap around his neck.

 

 

Castiel chokes, kicking out.

But the demon slams him to the ground, tightening its grip.

“I may be in a devil’s trap,” it hisses. “But I don’t need my powers to kill you.”

It leans down close.

“Was gonna tell you—follow the breadcrumbs, all the way back home—“ it growls, low and deep. "But now—"

 

 

Castiel can’t think, the lack of oxygen distorting everything, uselessly scrabbling at the hands holding him.

 

“Naomi sends her regards,” the demon whispers.

 

 

 

 

The heavy weight is suddenly yanked away from him—and there’s a hand, a blinding flash of light—

The demon dies with a blaze, its eyes burning like the sun, fireworks exploding from the touch on his head.

 

Dean roughly pulls him up, screaming at him.

“What did I tell you, what did I _fucking tell you_ —“

Castiel shoves him off, trying to get away. Dean grabs his wrist and Castiel whirls, lashing out. He wants to fucking strangle him, but he’ll have to settle for one hand.

 

He punches him, and it’s a good hit, but Dean is like a fucking concrete block and Castiel snatches his hand back, gasping.

Dean stares at him in shock.

“Cas, what the _fuck_ —“

Castiel doesn’t answer, he just runs. Dean appears in front of him, a hand outstretched—

But he shoves past him— _shit_ —he just needs to get away. Castiel barrels around the corner, behind some crates or boxes, he doesn’t know—he sees a flash of light, hears rough shouting—

And despite all of his instincts screaming at him to turn back, he darts out the door, throwing himself into the Impala and tearing down the highway, the harsh smell of burning rubber hitting his nose as he presses down on the accelerator.

Castiel drives, he just drives, because he can’t think of anything else.

 

There’s a flash of color out of the corner of his eye, and he clenches his hands around the wheel.

 

 

“Get out,” he snarls, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Cas—“

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you right now. Get the hell out of my car.”

“No. C’mon—”

 

There’s a squeal of tires as Castiel sharply pulls the car over to the side of the highway, nearly throwing them both. He’s out the door in a heartbeat, yanking his knife from his belt.

“What are you doing? Cas—“

Castiel slices his arm, ignoring the sting of pain as he starts on the sigil, tracing out quick lines on the window of his car. He can feel Dean staring at him in horror.

“What are you _doing_?” He yells again.

“I warned you, I fucking warned you—“

Dean slams a hand against the frame of the car.

“Don’t you dare.”

 

Castiel looks up at him for the first time. He’s framed against the headlights, fury in his face, a streak of blood on his cheek.

God, he’s terrifying. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dean like this, and shit—Castiel knows he should probably stop, but all his rational thinking disappeared back inside that junkyard.

He turns back to the window.

“ _Cas.”_

He ignores him and finishes the sigil, ready to banish him back to Heaven or Hell or wherever, but when he looks up again, Dean is gone.

 

Castiel breathes heavily, glancing around before turning back to the window. He can feel blood dripping down his arm, but he makes no attempt to stop it. He just stares at the red lines, slowly oozing down the side of his car, and he snaps.

He punches it, putting his fist straight through the sigil. The glass shatters and flies everywhere, scattering all over the pavement and the backseat, and he falls back, cursing.

He bites back the pain and slides into the front seat, clumsily digging through his pack until he finds a bit of cloth. He wraps it around his hand and holds it like that on the drive home, not even bothering to pick out the shards of glass digging into his skin.

 

He bangs open the door to his room, and of course he’s there.

 

 

Castiel grits his teeth.

“Out.”

 

Dean ignores him and grabs his arm. Castiel hisses as his fist closes around his damaged hand. Dean sends a bolt of energy through him and the rag bursts into flame, singeing him even as his skin is healed. Castiel snatches his hand back.

“Jesus Christ—“

“You’re welcome,” he spits. 

 

Castiel clenches his newly healed hand, trying to restrain his anger.

“I don’t want to fucking see you right now.”

He turns away, but Dean catches his wrist.

“Will you listen to me for two seconds?”

Castiel struggles to squirm away from his tight grip.

“And hear you say what? You gonna apologize?” He rips his hand away. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m fucking trying to, if you’d just tell me what’s wrong—“

“Go to hell,” Castiel snaps, pushing past him towards the door.

“Goddammit—“

Dean seizes him and roughly pins him against the wall.

“You are going to talk to me,” he seethes.

 

“Let me go,” Castiel mumbles, his voice muffled. He struggles, trying to get his cheek off the wall. But Dean’s hands are like iron.

“No.”

Dean presses up against him, and despite his anger, Castiel feels a spark zip through him at the contact.

He bites down and jerks his elbow back, trying to push him away.

“Get—off—“

Dean tightens his grip, and Castiel gasps as he’s shoved up against the wall again. Shit, he can feel Dean already—stiffening through his jeans, hot short breaths cooling against the sweat on the back of his neck. Castiel shudders.

 

“I am an Angel of the Lord,” Dean hisses into his ear. “You do not—get—to _fuck_ with me.”

Despite the fact that he’s completely at the mercy of an extremely powerful warrior of Heaven, Castiel bristles. He can’t help himself, even though he knows his stupid mouth is going to get him in trouble.

“I can think of some motel beds that might disagree with you,” he retorts, rocking back and twisting his hips.

Dean spins him around, slamming him back against the wall, his face only centimeters away.

“Don’t be such a fucking smartass,” he snarls.

 

Dean is hard, unforgiving. He seems to have forgotten his intention to apologize and is just rising to the bait, responding to Castiel’s goading. Which is exactly what he wants.

This was his one flaw, his one weak spot that Castiel knew he could exploit. Shout at Dean, and he would shout back.

So he yells, because he wants Dean to hit him, to hurt him. To make him feel anything.

Castiel steels himself, fixing him with the iciest glare he can manage.

“Fuck you,” he hisses softly, curling his lip.

 

Dean jerks his hands up, crowding right against him. There isn’t an inch of him that he isn’t touching—he’s a hard solid line against him, immovable and terrible. The grip on his wrists in painfully tight, and Castiel lets out an involuntary whimper.

Dean’s teeth are at his ear.

“You know I could rip you apart with my bare hands,” he growls.

“I’d like to see you try,” Castiel hisses back.

Dean’s hand breaks through the wall by his head. Castiel inhales sharply, his body pulsing.

Dean rips his hand out of the hole, plaster and wood clattering to the floor. He slams his fist against the wall again, and Castiel barely chokes back his gasp.

“Do. Not. Test me.”

Castiel breathes hard, his eyes locked on Dean’s. He’s barely able to spit out his threats, the anger clenching his throat and making it hard for him to speak. Castiel wants to shove him off, but he’s like stone.

“Why did you come to the junkyard?” He snaps. “I could have handled it.”

The words come out before he can stop himself, and Dean’s hands loosen a little. He stares at him in disbelief.

“Are you—are you serious?” Dean gapes at him, his mouth hanging open. “Cas, I thought you were in danger—“

“Yeah, well.” Castiel turns his head. “I wasn’t.”

 

“Is that what this is about?” Dean sneers, like he can hardly believe it. Castiel resolutely refuses to meet his eyes, and Dean snarls out a frustrated breath.

“Why are you so pissed off about this?”

Castiel snaps back his gaze to him.

“You told me—no, you _ordered_ me not to go. You think you can tell me what to do?”

Dean is staring at him in horror, but Castiel can’t stop.

“I don’t need you to save me, you got that? I can fucking take care of myself.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, his fingers digging into Castiel’s arm.

“I never said you couldn’t—“

“I’m not some goddamn damsel in distress, okay?”

He’s yelling now, practically spitting in his face.

“Just because you’re an angel doesn’t mean you get to treat me like shit—“

Dean is livid.

“Oh, oh, really—is that how I treat you?”

 

Castiel grabs his shirt, trying to rip, to tear, to do anything to hurt him—

“Yeah—you think that since I’m human I’m fucking useless—“

Dean presses harder up against him, and Castiel struggles to keep his mind straight.

“ _Useless?_ Cas, I rebelled—I pulled you out of Hell, I _saved_ you—“

Castiel snarls.

“And you’re going to just fucking throw that in my face all the time, aren’t you?” He snaps. “Fuck you—that was for your own selfish reasons—“

Castiel digs a knee up into him, but it barely does anything—more like fucking turns him on, because Dean shudders, gasping out a shallow breath.

“I hate you, you fucking son of a bitch—you’ve done nothing but ruin my life—“

The air crackles with heat as the beginnings of Dean’s wings flare, bolts of flickering blue lightning sparking behind him. The sigils in his arms glow white-hot as he seizes Castiel again.

 

“You—“

Dean throws him back against the wall, hard.

“I almost died for you, you ungrateful—“

“You should have left me there to rot!” Castiel shouts, on the verge of tears.

“Maybe I should have—“

Dean thrusts up against him, and Castiel cries out, gasping.

“Teach you a fucking lesson—“

Castiel slaps him, gracelessly pushing at his face and shoving him away.

“I wish I’d never met you, you piece of shit—“

“ _Cas_ —goddammit—“

Dean’s hands flail, trying to seize him again, but Castiel can’t take it anymore.

“Get off me, just fucking get off me—“

 

He darts away before Dean can stop him, locking himself in the bathroom. He assumes Dean’s decided to respect the door because he doesn’t teleport in, but shit—

There’s a crash from the other side of the door, inarticulate yelling and curses as Dean rages in the next room. Castiel falls down to the floor, nearly crying. God—in anger, in fear, in frustration—he doesn’t fucking know anymore.

He holds his head in his hands, shaking, trying to block out the sounds from the other side of the door. He cowers until it stops, until he can’t hear anything anymore.

Castiel breathes heavily, closing his eyes.

He has to do something. He has to do anything but think about him right now.

He stands and strips off his clothes, trying to ignore the way his whole body is humming, how his legs shake as he steps into the tub. He turns on the water and dips under the hot spray, shivering as it hits his skin, washing away the dirt and blood of the night. He stands motionless until he’s soaked, hair hanging down in wet spikes.

 

He takes a deep breath. The gentle pulse of the shower soothes him a little, calms him down slightly, but he can still feel the buzz under his skin, of hot anger, arousal tinged with fear and hate. He inhales one more time, trying to still the pounding of his heart.

He presses a forearm to the wall, letting the water beat down around his head, blocking out the world.

 

Two hands grab him and he nearly has a heart attack.

 

He spins him around and Castiel gasps, slipping on the wet tile.

“You—“

Castiel struggles against him, writhing under his grip.

“ _Dean_ —get— _off_ —“

“Shut up—”

He’s still fucking wearing all his clothes—they’re getting soaked as he crushes Castiel to him, sliding a wet hand down his back.

Castiel nearly falls over as he tries to shove him off, but Dean’s grip is hard.

“You’re fucking clean enough,” he snarls.

Dean pushes him up against the wall of the shower, pressing his lips up against his ear.

“We didn’t finish our fight,” he hisses.

He grabs him abruptly, fisting over his cock, and in spite of himself, Castiel groans—willingly thrusting up into Dean’s hand, all that pent up heat and anger spilling out of him, clawing its way to the surface.

“Is this—is this how you usually finish fights?” He manages to sneer out, even though Dean’s mouth has found his own, swallowing his words.

He bites at his lip, and Castiel jerks back, tasting blood.

“Fuck you,” Dean hisses through his teeth, his eyes almost black.

Castiel breathes hard, staring at him. There was a pounding in his ears, blocking out everything, any rational thought, any reminder that this was a whole fucked up mess he didn’t even want to begin to think about.

But Castiel wants this. He wants to lose himself in his hatred, forget everything except sex, except Dean’s hands on his skin.

Castiel digs his nails into his neck.

 

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Fuck me.”

 

Dean’s eyes flare, he attacks him again—

Then they’re falling back down on his bed, skin still slick and steamed from the shower, Castiel’s head swimming from the sudden change. Dean grinds down on him, and Castiel writhes as the harsh wet denim scrapes against his aching cock. He snaps out a growl and kicks Dean off him.

He hits the floor and whirls, rolling up into an animal-like crouch, fixing Castiel with wild eyes.

“Take your fucking clothes off, you prick,” Castiel hisses.

Dean’s face twists in fury, and he grabs his ankle, dragging him to the edge of the bed, Castiel rolling up into sitting position as he pulls him in—

When Dean’s mouth closes around his dick, his clothes are gone, but Castiel barely even notices. He yells out loud, seizing his hair and clenching his thighs around Dean’s head, gasping.

He’s relentless, swallowing him down in one go, and Castiel jerks back, groaning. Dean starts fucking him with his mouth, fingernails scraping at his thighs, and Castiel can only shudder out harsh whining moans.

“You asshole, oh, fuck, _fuck_ —“

Castiel’s panting, pulling so hard at his hair he thinks that if Dean were human, he’d be screaming in pain—but Dean isn’t fucking human. He’s a machine, ruthless as he yanks Castiel’s hips down closer, digging bruises into his skin as he licks him up and down, not even stopping to take a breath.

Castiel falls back, arching against the mattress. He wants to shrink away from it—so good it was almost painful, hot wet heat surrounding him and pulling him up and under and—

_Holy shit_

Dean does something particularly unbelievable with his tongue and Castiel bolts upright, biting down on his knuckles. He rakes his other hand through Dean’s hair, finding the back of his scalp and gripping tight. Dean growls and only takes him deeper, scraping his nails against his skin.

Castiel shudders, shaking back a moan. There’s a tight heat coiling inside of him, burning him up from the inside out, tearing him apart.Fuck, _fuck,_ he was going to come already—

He thrashes against Dean’s touch, falling back again.

Oh—fuck—that son of a _bitch._

 

Dean suddenly stops, pulling back sharply, his hands still locked tight to his hips. Castiel jerks his head up, ready to yell at him, to tell him to keep going, to fucking get it over with—but Dean’s staring like he wants to devour him, and Castiel’s voice dies in his throat.

Dean’s skin is glowing again, little lines and swirls of golden light washing over them as he stares.

And _stares_.

Castiel struggles up to his elbows, panting.

 

He just wanted to forget—the fucking apocalypse, their horrible fight, their stupid inability to talk to each other, the choking hopelessness that now ruled their lives—

Castiel just wanted to _go,_ swallow him up, drink him down—but Dean was looking at him in that stupid predatory way of his, and it throws him, making his whole body shake as he tries to stay conscious.

“What?” Castiel yells. “ _What?_ ”

Dean doesn’t answer. But suddenly he dips forward, wet mouth around him again, and Castiel gasps, throwing his head back. That fucking bastard—

Castiel hooks his one leg over his shoulder, digging a heel into the skin of his back, clenching his fists. Dean’s tongue is everywhere, his mouth is hot and damp, and Castiel thrusts back, letting out a pitiful whine.

“ _God_ —Fuck—“

Dean laughs cruelly, and the vibration of his throat around Castiel’s dick was definitelynot helping in the whole trying-not-to-fucking-blow-already department. Castiel groans, kicking out—torn between wanting to wrench Dean off him and wanting to scream at him to keep going until he splits in half.

But Dean must be able to read his mind, because he suddenly stops. Castiel jerks up, ready to grunt out a protest—

Dean yanks Castiel’s legs closer and hooks his arms around him, turning instead to mark up his skin, sucking rough red splotches on the inside of his thighs, those strong hard hands pinning his hips to the bed. Castiel shudders, choking back a moan.

Dean nips and bites at his skin, kissing away the bruises from earlier with a wash of grace on his tongue. He drags the wet tip of his mouth against the line of his leg and Castiel can’t help it—he cries out—

_Oh god, oh god_

Dean breaks him out of his haze by picking him up and roughly throwing him back up further on the bed. Castiel scrambles, but Dean seizes his waist and pins him again. He practically slithers up his body, biting him everywhere, just short of breaking skin.

“God, fuck— _Dean_ —“

Castiel struggles against the pleasure, rolling with the curve of his body. Dean finally reaches his mouth and kisses him hard, dragging his hands up his stomach. Castiel wraps his legs around him, shoving his hips up violently.

“I fucking hate you—“

“I know, shut up—“

 

Dean moves harder, scraping his teeth against his cheek, sucking in ragged breaths through his open mouth. Castiel turns and meets his mouth, tangling his fingers in his hair.

They’re fucking boiling on the bed, knees and hands knocking together, but Dean hasn’t even touched him yet, he hasn’t even tried—

Castiel fumbles, grasping the back of his neck and forcing those eyes on him.

“Come on, you fucker,“ he hisses.

Dean’s eyes flare. He grabs his legs, roughly hiking Castiel up around him.

Castiel panics.

“What are you—“

Dean thrusts inside him in one smooth motion—and Castiel cuts off with an aborted gasp, expecting it to hurt like a bitch.

But it doesn’t.

 

Okay, well, it does—but the good kind of hurt, the kind Castiel’s come to expect—and for a second he forgets himself and just looks up at Dean, staring in astonishment.

Dean hovers over him, voice sliding out in a rough growl.

“What’s the point of having all the powers of Heaven at my disposal,” he breathes, not moving. “If I can’t abuse them to fuck you?”

Castiel burns, snarling.

“You son of a bitch—“

Dean sharply rocks up into him and Castiel yells. Dean growls and snaps his hips again, pushing in deeper.

 

They were ready to rip each other’s throats out earlier, and now—

It hasn’t lost its angry edge, hell, they’re practically breaking the bed apart—but Castiel doesn’t fucking care. He’s meeting him every second, twisting and clenching beneath him until Dean is the one out of control, hands slipping over his sweaty skin as he struggles to keep his grip.

Castiel wraps his legs around Dean’s waist, digging his nails into his back and his scalp. He heaves against him, broken cries choking in his throat. Dean braces himself against the bed as he drags out of him, almost slipping out before slamming back into him, shocking Castiel and punching the breath out of him. The slide inside him is vicious and perfect and hot and Castiel doesn’t even try to kiss Dean anymore, his mouth doesn’t work—it’s all sloppy teeth and tongue, scraping over cheek and neck, the rough catch of his skin scraping his lips raw.

 

Dean slows and twists, drawing the sounds of out him, leeching them like poison. But Castiel doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want gentle, he doesn’t want nice—

He seizes Dean’s face and pulls him in, biting at his bottom lip.

“Come on, you bastard,” he hisses, but Dean just sneers, barking out a harsh laugh.

Castiel flares, and he tries to push his face away—but Dean snarls, snapping at his fingers with his teeth. Castiel seizes him again, grabbing Dean’s hair and yanking his head back, biting kisses into his neck. Dean nearly collapses, letting out a harsh whine.

“ _Come on_ ,” he pants. “Like you mean it—fuck me like you _mean it_ —“

Dean lets out a low growl of anger, eyes flaring, and Castiel’s temper burns again.

“Really— _really?_ Is that the best you can do—“

Castiel shoves Dean, but he’s hard and solid, and the push does nothing but to further piss him off.

“Is that all you got?” Castiel yells.

Dean growls and in a flash, pins Castiel’s wrists above his head. Castiel snarls at the loss of control, hissing through his teeth.

“Fucking let go of me—“

 

Dean thrusts hard, once, and stops. Castiel arches back, black creeping into the corners of his vision. He sees stars, only called back to reality when Dean’s fingers tighten on his wrists. Castiel jerks under the touch, cursing him, garbled whimpers and moans under his breath as he fights against his grip. He struggles to thrust his hips up, goad him back into fucking him again, to let him go, to do anything—

God—so close, so close—he just needed him to move—

But Dean doesn’t relent, he just fucking stares him down. Castiel trembles underneath him, glaring back.

 

Dean leans down, hovering just over his lips. It takes all of Castiel’s self-control to not spit in his face.

“Maybe I don’t mean it,” Dean hisses.

“Maybe this is all we are,” he growls, voice shaking in hurt and rage.

Castiel snarls, contorting under his grip, but those hands are too strong. Dean’s eyes are burning.

“What’s the matter, _Castiel_?” He spits out his full name, and it hurts worse than the painful hold on his wrists.

“Not what you expected?”

Castiel is about to sneer back, some retort, some scathing comment, but then he catches sight of those eyes and he falters, swallowing hard.

They stare at each other, locked in stalemate.

 

Dean opens his mouth, his eyes full of hesitation and confusion.

He just looks at him, and Castiel can’t speak.

They’re on the verge of something, something too big, too heavy for either of them to accept right now, and Castiel panics. No no no—

 

He rocks his hips up, and Dean cries out, shocked into moving. Castiel snaps his loosened grip and arches, making Dean curve around him again, wishing him to forget words.

He bites down on Dean’s neck.

“You fucking coward,” he hisses. “Come on—“

Dean gasps, and wraps a crushing arm around him, his other hand digging into the sheets. He tries to thrust harder into him, but Castiel shoves him back, wrenching him around until he’s on top, pinning him down.

Dean hisses, arching against the bed, digging fingers into Castiel’s back as he moves on top of him, rough and hard. Castiel plants a hand against his chest, shoving him back, loving how Dean nearly faints, as he bites at air, gasping, hands fumbling, scrambling to find skin.

“You goddamn asshole—“

Castiel throws his head back, swiveling his hips sinfully—and Dean lets out a strangled cry. His eyes roll, his whole body loosens—

Castiel dips down, knowing he’s got him now—crowding so close to his face that their noses touch. Dean is panting, barely able to keep those furious green eyes locked on his.

“Come on,” Castiel whispers.

Then he clutches the back of his neck, thrusting forward one more time.

 

Dean comes, wings exploding from him in a rush of gold. Castiel jerks backward in shock, nearly falling off the bed.

“Holy fuck—“

But then Dean is there, shoving him back, arms shaking as he grabs his cock, furiously stroking him, until—

Castiel comes with a strangled groan, fingers scrabbling over his cheeks as he pulls him in for another gasping kiss, riding out the shocks in Dean’s breath, their bodies moving harsh and in sync. Then he collapses.

Dean’s hand twists as he roughly jacks him a few more times, and Castiel shakes, everything in him imploding and on fire.

 _Fuck_ , that was intense—

Castiel gasps, swallowing hard. He almost feels like he’s going to pass out. He inhales harshly, arching against the bed as the last waves of pleasure roll through him and fade away, leaving him hot and loose, his lungs burning.

 

He accidentally looks up, and his gaze meets Dean’s. His whole body stills, eyes widening in sudden realization—

Dean yanks himself off the bed. Castiel props himself up on trembling arms, breathing hard.

He’s not really sure what to do. Dean is putting the room back together, darting about unsteadily as he gathers his clothes, pulling on his jeans, not looking at him.

Castiel’s whole body shakes.

Oh god.

What had they done?

 

He digs a hand into the mattress below him, willing himself to speak.

“Dean—”

A jolt runs through him, and the air hums with vibration.

Dean is gone.

 

 

 

Castiel stares at the empty space where his body had been only seconds before, numb.

Something inside him breaks.

 

He starts to cry, furious tears spilling down his cheeks. He rocks back and forth, gulping down air. He didn’t exactly want to talk either, but that hasty exit, without a word, without an explanation—

“No,” he mumbles. “Dean—come back, please—“

He falls back against the bed, screwing his eyes shut. He chokes on his breath, desperately trying to calm down.

 _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry_ , he whispers to no one in particular.

 

He had left. Left him. Without so much as a backward glance.

_You promised_

Castiel gasps.

It’s all too much, and he rolls over, trying to smother it away with his pillow, burrowing his face into the sheets.

He shuts his eyes, pulling the blanket over his head.

 

When he finally drops down under, it’s a dreamless sleep, like the dead, his whole body drowning in an aching exhaustion. But it doesn’t last long, and he soon surges up, gasping in the darkness of his room, the moon hanging high in the sky.

For a moment he doesn’t even remember why he feels like this, why his heart feels like it’s being crushed with a vice.

But then last night rushes back to him and he sucks in a gasp, doubling over.

He curls into himself, shaking.

 

 

A voice startles him in the darkness.

 

“ _Shit_ , Cas.”

Castiel spins, clutching the sheets around him.

Dean’s standing at the foot of his bed, his face horrified. Castiel follows the direction of his eyes, but immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Splotchy, discolored bruises are covering his whole body, blossoming on his legs, his wrists, his arms—all in the unmistakable shape of fingerprints.

 

Castiel flushes. He yanks at the sheets, trying to cover himself.

“No—let me see.”

 

Dean is at his side in a heartbeat, hand grasping the cotton. Castiel hesitates, but then lets Dean pull back the sheets, exposing his skin again. Dean barely contains himself when he sees the full expanse of the marks. He curses harshly, reaching a hand out.

“Cas, god—“

But he abruptly halts, hovering just over his skin. Castiel realizes he’s waiting for his permission, and he nods, once.

Dean swallows and rests his hand down on Castiel’s leg. He shivers.

 

He holds his breath as Dean smoothes a hand down his thigh, a wave of warmth spreading from his fingers as he heals him. He doesn’t have to, but Dean devotes his attention to every inch of his skin.

He just touches him, not speaking. His face is hard and contorted as he works, his breath carefully controlled. When Castiel finally has the courage to look at him, Dean’s face is full of pain.

Castiel thinks he’s going to start crying again. Dean was being so gentle, so warm, and he didn’t fucking deserve it. He didn’t deserve this.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Castiel looks up sharply.

Dean isn’t looking at him. He’s still running his palms over his skin, now gently pulling his arm closer, washing away the bruises like wiping away stains.

Castiel’s voice cracks.

“Wh…what?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers again, moving to his other leg. He cups a hand around his calf, slowly running his thumb against the hard line of his shin, soothing away the pain.

“Jeez, Cas, I shouldn’t have—“

He stops, breathing hard. Castiel doesn’t dare move.

Dean finds his waist and circles around to his back, brushing over the angry red scratches there. His face tightens, full of self-loathing and revulsion.

“I hurt you.”

Castiel closes his eyes, choking back a hysterical laugh.

“I wanted you to.”

 

The bed dips as Dean slides in beside him, hesitant fingers touching his cheek. Castiel can’t look at him.

“Why?”

His voice, so full of pain and shaking confusion—it pierces Castiel and nearly tears him apart.

Castiel breaks, hunching over and grabbing desperately at his hand.

“Fuck—I don’t know—I really don’t know.”

Dean pulls him into his arms, and Castiel clutches to his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely now. He can barely breathe, like the very air is suffocating him.

“Cas, god, Cas—“

Dean’s hands scrabble over his skin, grasping his cheeks as he brings Castiel’s face up to his own.

“What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong—”

Castiel can’t answer, he just shakes.

Dean’s eyes are frantic.

“Jesus, fuck—Cas, _talk to me.”_

“I’m sorry, Dean, I’m sorry—“ he manages to mumble.

“ _You’re_ sorry—“

Dean bends down, trying to meet his eyes.

“Cas, it was my fucking fault, I—I shouldn’t have said those things to you, I shouldn’t have—“

He stops, breath hitching as Castiel looks up at him.

“It was me,” Dean whispers. “It was all me.”

 

Castiel is frozen for a second, but then he falls forward, because he can’t do this, he can’t see that pain in his eyes.

He kisses him hard, seizing at his shirt and pulling him in.

“Cas—“ Dean gasps, trying to break away.

“Please,” Castiel begs. “Don’t, don’t—I can’t right now—“

Dean stops him, hands tight around his shoulders.

“Cas.”

His voice is firm, and Castiel flinches. Dean snatches his hands back, recoiling.

“Jesus,” he whispers.

 

He’s still as Castiel wraps his arms around himself, shaking.

“I—“

He stands and paces away from him, twisting his hands.

“I can’t touch you ever again, god, I can’t even fucking trust myself—“ Dean gasps out, snarling his hands up in his hair. He looks so distraught.

Cas digs his fingers into his arm.

“Dean—“

He whirls.

“No, Cas!” He yells, choking on the words. “I’m fucking toxic! Look what I’ve done, to you, to your life, to Anna—“

He gasps, his turn to fight back tears.

“I hurt everyone, Charlie, Sam—all I’ve ever done is hurt you, and you don’t need that, you deserve so much better—“

It’s Castiel’s turn to run to him, to wrap him tight as they sink to the floor.

He grabs him and Dean almost shoves him away, but Castiel holds on tight, pulling him in close.

“Dean—“

Dean shakes his head, trembling in his arms. He tries to push him away, his hands clumsy and wild.

“No, Cas, I’m nothing, I’m poison—“

“I love you—“

“You shouldn’t, I don’t know why you do—“

Castiel swallows, the pit in his stomach seemingly getting deeper and more painful with every passing second.

He grabs Dean’s hands, bringing them to his own face.

 

“I don’t hate you,” he says firmly, trying to meet his eyes. “Of course I don’t hate you.” Dean swallows, but Castiel can tell he isn’t convinced.

He sinks his forehead against his, shutting his eyes tight.

“Dean. Please.”

Dean shrinks from him, yanking his hands away.

“No, I can’t, I—“

He shakes his head, slowly backing away from Castiel.

“I can’t be here. I should go—“

“No, no, no—come on, please—”

Castiel crawls forward, his heart twisting in frightened panic.

“Dean. Hey, hey.”

 

He reaches out a tentative hand.

“Dean. C’mon. Look at me.”

But he doesn’t. He covers his face with his hands.

“I—“

Dean shudders, suddenly standing.

“I can’t be around you,” he whispers darkly. “I, I have to—I just—“

Dean falls silent. He stares at Castiel, everything in him broken.

 

Then he’s gone—the air shifting to fill the space of his absence.

 

 

 

Castiel stands cautiously, supporting himself against the wall, just in case his legs decide to give out.

His stomach is twisting, and he can feel the sweat breaking out on his skin.

“Dean,” he mumbles. “No. Come back. Please.”

 

The room doesn’t answer him. The air is thick and dark, only the dim light of the half moon struggling to shine through the window.

Castiel collapses and doubles over, holding his head in his hands.

He slides to the floor, frozen, until his muscles are still and cramped, his whole body and mind aching.

 

He doesn’t know how long he lies there. He avoids the shower again, pulling on ratty clothes and falling into his bed, after ripping all the sheets off and throwing them to the floor. He doesn’t want to remember. He doesn’t want to think.

He doesn’t know when he finally sinks under, slipping into an exhausted coma-like sleep.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naomi returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, just a heads up, this is where we start getting into MCD territory. They will mostly be villains, but in this chapter, one of the main protagonists dies--BUT IT IS ONLY TEMPORARY. I REPEAT, ONLY TEMPORARY. (basically if any good guy 'dies', believe me, its most likely temporary)
> 
>  
> 
> Also, thank you for being so patient. I've got my dcbb posting date next week so ive been editing like crazy, but finally got a bit of time to work on this fic. so really, thank you <3

Anna stares at the room in front of her, not moving a muscle.

Gabriel stumbles through the doorway, shaking his head.

“He’s not—in the graveyard—either,” he pants, one hand clamped over his side.

Anna doesn’t speak. She just looks.

Gabriel notices the destruction of the room in front of them, the ripped sheets on the floor, broken glass and a smashed lamp, the air heavy with the stench of fear and blood.

“Call him again,” she whispers.

 

She doesn’t wait for Gabriel to answer, going to her own room to grab her laptop, yanking it open and pulling up the GPS tracker. She’d been practically scared to death when Dean just appeared out of nowhere—healing her with a touch, then growling some warning about Cas, before disappearing again. She’d tried to get to Gabriel, but the fucking doctor had gotten in the way—and it took her nearly three hours to get out of the hospital. And now they come back to find this.

Gabriel comes to stand behind her, his phone pressed to his ear.

“What if he’s—what if—“

The computer beeps, and Anna yanks it towards her.

“There,” she breathes shakily. “He’s there.”

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel breaks his phone in half, letting it drop into the river below him.

He just looks for a minute, before climbing back over the bridge’s railing, sliding back in the car.

 _Thank you Gabriel_ , he thinks quietly. For reminding him. He can’t have them knowing where he’s going. He has to do this alone.

He’s starting to realize, he’s always known. He figured it out when she killed his aunt and uncle, when she starting killing everyone around him. He just had been deluding himself, hoping it wasn’t true.

But he knows now. There was only one spot Naomi could be waiting for him.

_Follow the breadcrumbs. All the way back home._

 

His mind is blank as he drives, his instinct guiding him. His mind is focused on only one thing.

Castiel’s gonna die with a gun in his hands. He knows it, and he’s accepted it. He realized this one night when he was fifteen, when three of Dad’s friends got wiped out, all in a single week. Hunters don’t have much of a lifespan. You did the job for as long as you could, and tried to go out swinging.

But he’d be damned if he was going to lie down and let Naomi murder the rest of his friends and family.

 

x

 

Anna stares down in horror at the screen.

“It just cut out,” she breathes. “The signal. It’s gone.”

“Shit,” Gabriel curses.

He moves quickly, grabbing a shotgun and throwing it to her. She catches it, running after him.

“Gabe, it’s only three miles from the—you think—?”

Gabriel nods, fumbling for his car keys.

“The church.”

 

x

 

Castiel doesn’t bother drawing his gun. It’d only piss her off.

He unlocks the heavy padlock on the church doors, pushing inside. Leaves scatter around his feet, sweeping in with the wind and the cold. Castiel stands motionless for a minute, just listening.

He takes quick inventory of the silent rooms, the once-familiar halls now sharp and menacing, endless places for evil to hide, lurking in every corner.

He pauses at his old room, one hand on the doorframe. There’s a book on his bed, still open.

 

A rush of cold prickles the back of his neck, and he turns his head. He can suddenly see his breath, white and icy in front of him. He swallows.

 

Castiel moves slowly back out to the main hall, footsteps making no noise on the dusty floor. The hallway flickers with candlelight. It has to be coming from the altar. He wraps his hand around Raphael’s knife, keeping it close.

 

He steps forward into the light.

 

Naomi is sitting in the front pew, her eyes turned up to the cross in front of her, her hands in her lap.

She looks up.

 

“Hello, Castiel.”

 

 

Castiel moves slowly, scanning the room. The candles waver eerily, Naomi’s eyes tracking his movements.

“So nice to see you again,” she says softly.

Castiel barks out a short laugh.

“Wish I could say the same.”

She just smiles. Her pristine suit is marred by dark stains, her neck and cheek flecked with blood. Castiel fights back the bile that rises in his throat.

“Follow the breadcrumbs,” he mutters. “You got a sick sense of humor, you know that?”

She laughs.

“Been wondering when you would figure it out.” She settles back into the pew, crossing her ankles. “Then again, you always were rather dense.”

 

Castiel glances all around him, still listening hard. Naomi clucks her tongue.

“I came alone, Castiel. I do not plan to kill you.”

He laughs. It sounds forced and hollow, even to himself.

“Yeah, right.”

He moves to the center of the room, pulling the knife. She merely watches, her eyes impassive.

 

 

“Let’s finish this.”

 

Naomi doesn’t react. Castiel tightens his grip on the knife, his voice hoarse.

“You and me. No one else.”

 

 

She raises an eyebrow.

“Is that really what you want, Castiel?”

 

Castiel glares at her.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Her smile fades a little, and she sighs.

“Oh. You are a dull little thing, aren’t you? Just call your name and you come running.”

She stands, her eyes never leaving his.

“You never could disobey an order,” she whispers.

 

Castiel steels himself, fighting against the urge to run.

“I’m going to kill you, Naomi,” he whispers.

 

She cocks her head, looking him up and down.

“I don’t think so,” she murmurs. “Or you would have already.”

Castiel narrows his eyes, but she doesn’t elaborate. She spreads a bloody hand, smiling prettily at him.

“You want to talk, Castiel,” she says. “So let’s talk.”

 

He glares at her.

“What are you—“

“Don’t lie to me,” she snaps, and Castiel falls furiously silent.

“You’re not here to kill me,” she says, fixing him with that steely blue gaze. Castiel growls, low in his throat.

“Why else would come running after me, half-cocked? With no plan and nothing but that little knife to defend yourself?” Naomi smiles vaguely, lips curling.  “You want answers.”

 

Castiel doesn’t dare move.

 

“So.”

 

She extends a hand.

“Let’s talk.”

 

 

She steps forward, and Castiel backs away, clinging to the knife. She pauses, pursing her lips.

“Ask me your questions, Castiel.”

She taps her wrist, her eyes dark.

“Tick tock, tick tock,” she murmurs.

 

 

 

Castiel readjusts his grip on the knife, silent. She smirks.

 

 

“You’re the reason I’m feeling like this.”

 

Naomi pauses. He grits his teeth.

“You did something to me,” he mutters. “It hasn’t been the same, since I came back, and now, I—“

He stops abruptly, fighting for breath.

“Now it’s worse,” she finishes softly.

 

Castiel breathes hard through his nose, trying to keep his head clear.

 

Naomi lowers one hand, tracing along the edge of the pew.

“Oh, Castiel. You really do need to stop blaming others for your problems.”

She looks up, rubbing dust and blood in between her fingers.

“I didn’t ‘do anything’ to you. I merely brought forward what was dormant.”

She walks forward, heels clicking against the cool concrete.

“Some part of you knows it, too,” she says. “It’s always been inside you. Ever since you were a little boy—“

“You’re lying,” he stutters out.

Naomi shrugs.

“That’s what demons do.”

 

 

Castiel digs his nails into his palm, his rage heightening, searing under his skin and scorching through his blood.

“My aunt and uncle.”

 

He can barely speak.

“That was you.”

 

She smiles, Hell locked behind that innocent blue.

“I had to get your attention somehow.”

 

 

 

Castiel forces himself to unclench his hands, moving slightly to his left.

 

“What’s your game?”

 

 

She seems to falter at that.

“Game?” She asks, raising an eyebrow. Castiel flares.

“Why the hell are you doing this?” he snarls.

 

Naomi looks around sharply.

“You still don’t know?”

Castiel stares at her. A strange expression, almost like sympathy, passes over her face.

 

“You still don’t get it, do you,” she says slowly, stepping closer. “Castiel—this is _fate_. This is all by design. It is not an accident that we are here. We were always meant to end up…here.”

She reaches out a hand, brushing his cheek. Castiel freezes.

“It starts with blood and it ends in blood,” Naomi whispers.

 

Castiel doesn’t move. _Wait, wait, wait for her to get closer…_

 

She smiles, her eyes lost in shadow.

“And then Abaddon will bring paradise,” she breathes.

 

Castiel holds his breath, Raphael’s knife hot in his hand. _Keep her talking._

“A demon named Balthazar has a different theory,” he sneers. “He says Abaddon’s just using you.”

Naomi abruptly drops her hand, her eyes burning.

“You don’t know Balthazar,” she snarls.

 

She turns away from him, a hint of anger finally breaking through.

“It’s that meddling bastard’s fault this took so long in the first place,” she mutters, looking at him cruelly. “If I hadn’t listened to him, I could have turned you long ago. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the reason your family is dead."

Castiel stares at her, blinking in shock. Naomi slowly shakes her head.

“But I’ll kill you soon enough, Castiel,” she hisses. “And then I’ll be on my way to collecting the whole Remington set.”

Castiel thinks everything in him freezes—shuts down and stops working.

“What?”

 

Naomi turns.

“Oh,” she breathes. “I never told you, did I?”

She steps closer, her eyes melting to white.

“It’s my fault. That you’re an orphan.”

 

 

All the air seems to leave the room.

 

“Sorry, love,” she murmurs. “Your daddy got in my way.”

 

 

 

Castiel throws himself forward, wrenching the knife up, swinging it at her side—he knew it had been a demon, but her, _her_ —

She blocks the first blow and he spins for his next attack, but the knife is suddenly red hot in his hand—and Castiel drops it, hissing. Naomi twists his wrist, grabbing his neck and slamming to the floor.

“Now, now,” she scolds, yanking him up, an arm around his throat.

“None of that.”

 

Castiel struggles uselessly against her, snarling.

“You—I’m going to kill you—“

“You said that already.”

Naomi seizes his head and slams it against the floor. Pain explodes behind his eyes, and he goes limp, helpless as Naomi yanks him up again, hissing in his ear.

“Oh, Castiel,” she breathes, tracing his chin with the flat edge of the knife. “I should have ripped off your pretty pretty face ages ago.”

 

 

He chokes, hands grasping weakly at her wrist. She tightens the grip, putting pressure on his throat, and he starts gasping, desperately struggling for air.

“You had no idea, did you, she whispers. “He was going to give it up. Give up hunting. After what happened to Auntie and Uncle—“

She presses in closer, and Castiel vainly tries to get away from the stench of blood and sulfur on her breath.

“He wanted you out. Was going to take you and your sister away, leave it all behind, live that apple pie life.”

Castiel struggles to understand through the fog in his brain, black starting to overwhelm him. There’s blood dripping down his temple.

“So you understand why I couldn’t let that happen,” Naomi whispers. “I needed you to jump in that pit. I needed you to sacrifice yourself for your sister.”

Castiel pulls her arm off, long enough for him to choke out one word.

“What?”

She grabs him, flipping him quickly, slamming him to his back. She jams the knife to his neck, eyes burning with fire.

“None of this ever would have happened if I had let your father take you away,” she snarls. “So he had to die.”

Castiel stares up at her in horror. Naomi leers down at him, a hideous triumph in her smile.

“All you had left was your sister,” she sneers. “And you devoted yourself to her; selfishly, codependently, _sacrificially_ —so when I sent Raphael to you—“

Castiel grabs her wrist.

“You—“

“And he performed beautifully,” Naomi hisses. “He did so well. And then you released Abaddon, and you came to me.”

Castiel can’t breathe. His entire life—everything he thought he knew—it was nothing. It was all a lie. He had just been a pawn in some sick game.

“Then that angel ripped you out, screwed it all up,” she growls. “Right before we could get to the good part.”

“No,” Castiel pants desperately. “ _No—“_

“But we can still be together, Castiel,” Naomi whispers. She drops the knife, pulling Castiel up, her hands on his cheeks. He chokes, her face sliding in and out of focus.

“Don’t you see? You freed her, she’s going to be grateful.” She drops her voice down low, almost reverent. “You have no idea the gifts she can bestow.”

“No,” he chokes out, gripping weakly at her collar. “No, please—“

“It’s alright, Castiel," Naomi whispers, petting through his hair, cooing. “You don’t have to fight anymore. Let go. Let go.”

“No,” Castiel begs weakly.

“This is your destiny. What you were always meant to be.”

 

Castiel cannot move. Naomi places a soft hand on his cheek, her eyes almost warm.

“Stop fighting it,” she whispers. “Just let go.”

He stares at those cold blue eyes.

 

 

Then, behind her, the door bangs open—Gabriel and Anna both raise their guns, but Naomi doesn’t even bother turning around.

 

With a twist of her hand, she sends Anna and Gabriel crashing into the wall. Castiel chokes, unable to force himself up to help them. He watches helplessly as his family lies crumpled against the wall, groaning. Naomi watches with a slightly bored expression.

“You Remingtons do have the _worst_ timing,” she says.

 

Anna struggles up, her eyes flicking towards the knife. Castiel shakes his head.

But Naomi is looking curiously at Gabriel, a slow smile crossing her face.

“Finally we meet," she purrs. "You look so much like your parents."

 

Gabriel’s face goes white. He bolts up, but Naomi just raises a hand, squeezing her fist.

Gabriel collapses, the sick sound of something being crushed echoing dully through the air. He whimpers in rage and pain, clutching at his leg.

Naomi turns back to glare at Castiel, and he shakes his head mutely.

 

She raises an eyebrow.

“You mean you didn’t—“

 

A smile quickly spreads across her face.

“Oh, oh.”

She laughs.

“You never told them, did you?” She breathes. “What you did for me?”

“No,” he begs, stuttering over the word. “No, no, please—“

“Quiet,” she snaps, striking him across the face. Castiel jerks back, stunned.

 

Behind her, Anna is struggling to push herself up.

 

“Oh, this is just too much,” Naomi whispers. “Poor little Castiel, never telling them how it was down below.”

Anna stiffens. Gabriel is still clutching helplessly at his leg, his mouth open.

Naomi smiles.

“How much _fun_ we had. How good you got with a razor.”

He sees Anna’s horrified eyes flick from Naomi back to him, and Castiel can’t stand it.

“Stop,” he begs. “Please—“

Naomi seizes his throat, and he folds, gasping.

“Pathetic,” she whispers.

 

She sighs, bringing up her other hand to brush through his hair.

“Oh, Castiel. You could have been a masterpiece. Ten more years down below, and you would have been absolutely perfect.”

She lifts his chin, that smile dark and vicious.

“I was going to mold you into something so much better,” she says. “But that’s what you deserve, Castiel. What you still could be.”

 

Castiel can’t breathe. There’s black creeping into the corners of his vision, everything in him fighting to drag him down into unconsciousness.

 

Her smile suddenly fades.

“But, of course,” she says softly. “You probably want a little payback for all the things I did to you.”

Castiel is limp, his mind seized in a vice of pain and shock.

Naomi’s lip curls.

“No? How ‘bout for all the things I did to your daddy?”

 

There’s a strangled noise from the corner, and Naomi turns, eyes glinting. Anna is shaking, choking on her words.

“No,” she breathes. “ _No—_ “

Castiel pushes against Naomi’s hold.

“Fuck you,” he spits. “ _Fuck—“_

Anna screams.

“You demonic piece of shit—you’re dead, _dead_ —“

Naomi swipes her hand and Anna recoils, like she’s been slapped. When she raises her head, there are thin stripes of blood on her cheek.

“Talkative little family today, aren’t we?” the demon hisses.

She swivels her head slowly to fix back on Castiel, her eyes wild.

“Died slow, he did.”

Castiel starts burning, his rage roaring inside him.

“He begged towards the end. Prayed and screamed for me to stop.” She tilts her head, malevolent glee in her eyes as she watches Castiel’s face. “I was waiting to tell you,” she breathes. “Oh, I was waiting for the day.”

Castiel snarls, pushing uselessly against her grip. She digs her nails into his skin, leering.

“Down below…that little piece of information would have broken you. The right time, the right place…”

She leans in, barely a breath away.

“And you would have gone over into unholy territory,” she whispers.

 

 

Castiel doesn’t see her until it’s too late. Gabriel’s shout echoes in his ear, poisoning him.

“ _ANNA—NO—“_

She plunges the knife into Naomi's back, twisting it for good measure.

The demon grunts, falling to her hands beside Castiel. Her body fizzles and pops, orange sparks echoing around the wound.

 

 

Naomi reaches up a shaking hand, slowly drawing out the slick blood-coated knife. Anna steps back, staring in horror.

 

Naomi rips out the blade and throws it down, swiveling to face her.

“Don’t—interrupt me—while I’m _talking_ ,” she hisses.

 

 

She darts out a bloody hand, seizing Anna’s neck.

 

 

 

Castiel yells, throwing himself forward. But Naomi slams him back with a wave of her hand, and he’s thrown to the floor, gasping for breath.

Naomi turns her attention back to Anna.

 

“You are _such_ a pain in my ass,” she snarls, looking her up and down. Anna whimpers as Naomi stands, holding her throat in a vice-like grip. The demon cocks her head.

“And there’s something different about you,” she murmurs. She peers at Anna closely, leering.

“What is it, sweet thing?”

 

Anna makes a soft wounded noise, scrabbling at Naomi’s hold.

Naomi slowly turns her head.

“Always difficult, you Remingtons,” she murmurs.

 

“No—no.”

 

Castiel gasps, desperately pleading.

“No. Leave her. Leave her,” he begs. “Please.”

 

Naomi’s lips curl into a cruel smile.

“Well.”

 

Castiel’s heart stops.

 

 

“If you insist.”

 

 

 

 

Castiel feels himself yelling, screaming harshly—

But there’s nothing he can do. A sick crack echoes through the air, and Naomi sneers, casting her aside like a defective toy.

Anna collapses, glassy eyes staring at the sky.

 

 

 

“Anna! _ANNA!”_

 

Castiel bolts forward, trying to run to her.

“No, _no_ —“

Naomi grabs him by the arm, and throws him across the room.

 

 

“End this, Castiel!” She shouts, stalking after him. “You do not wish to see your friends die one by one!”

Gabriel is white, trying to help, but he can’t, not with his leg—

Castiel brokenly crawls forward, reaching for Anna.

 

“No,” he sobs. “ _No_ —“

“No? _No_?” Naomi mocks, seizing his chin. “What a broken record you are.”

She slaps him.

“You’ve gone soft,” she seethes. “Where’s the Castiel I know?” She hisses, her eyes sliding white in fury. “The man who could twist a soul until it begged and screamed for mercy?”

She’s losing control, shaking in her rage as she hits him again.

“Come on,” she hisses. “Get angry.”

She jabs her hand into the hollow of his throat and Castiel chokes, gasping for air.

“Hit me,” she seethes. “Fight—back—“

She curls those hateful fingers into the front of his shirt, her other hand squeezing Castiel's throat, shoving his head back.

“You may have been pulled out before we were finished,” she seethes. “But that doesn’t mean your time in Hell didn’t change you.”

 

Castiel slowly meets her eyes. Naomi is furious.

“You know it’s all your fault, right?” She hisses. “Your mother, your father, your sister—everyone around you dies!”

Her fingers tighten around his throat.

“So use that darkness inside you, Castiel. Use it. Get revenge.”

She smacks him, and Castiel falls to the floor, breathing weakly.

“Kill me,” she hisses.

 

Castiel doesn’t move. Naomi looks down on him, disgusted.

 

“Pathetic.”

 

 

Her hand raises again—

 

Castiel grabs her wrist.

“Get off me,” he hisses. 

 

He shoves her back, and she hits the ground, the floor cracking underneath her impact.

 

 

Castiel is there in an instant, laying into her, again and again until his fists are bloody, his eyes almost black in his rage.

Naomi is laughing, laughing at him even through the blood filling her mouth. Castiel’s head is pounding, but he can’t stop.

She hits his chest, sending him crashing back.

 

“You left your humanity back in the pit, _Castiel_ ,” she hisses. “There is no going back.”

Her clothes are ripped, her hair askew, nose and lip steadily dripping blood.

“How different were you from me towards the end?” She thunders, towering over him.

Castiel tackles her again, and they tumble to the floor, hissing at each other.

“You were always meant to die,” she hisses. “To become what you should have been—“

Naomi seizes his wrist, twisting it, and he cries out in pain.

“Hell is where you belong,” she hisses.

She quickly grabs his chin, forcing his face up to hers.

“I _fixed_ you, Castiel,” she spits.

She laughs cruelly, twin eyes mirrored in his own.

“I fixed you!”

 

 

 

 

Castiel rears forward, everything in him fighting to kill her. It all hits him in that moment, and Castiel nearly tips over into the blackness—he can _feel_ it—fighting and tearing at the corners of his mind, all the rage and inexplicable anger, memories of Hell and hate screaming at him, begging him to just give in.

 

But his eyes slide from Naomi’s cold white eyes to Anna’s green ones, where she lies unseeing on the floor.

Castiel gasps, choking back his sob.

“Anna,” he moans, sinking in her grip.

 

Naomi’s eyes widen in shock. Her hand tightens imperceptibly, something dark and conflicted in her face as she stares down at him.

“You are my biggest disappointment,” she murmurs quietly.

 

She stands, staring down at his broken form.

Castiel looks up. He doesn’t care anymore. He just wants her to kill him.

She raises her hand, and Castiel closes his eyes, waiting for it.

 

She snaps her fingers, and he hunches over, clutching at his chest. Something within him had snapped, there was a stabbing pain in his side—

Almost immediately, there’s the sound of wings, and Naomi turns, a triumphant smile on her face.

A smile that immediately fades when she sees the two new figures in their midst.

“No,” she breathes.

 

 

Lilith steps forward, eyes cold as ice.

“Demon,” she says. “Thank you for showing us the way.”

 

Naomi shakes her head

“It’s too late,” she whispers. “She’s coming. She’s _here_.”

Lilith raises an eyebrow.

“Well, then. I’ll be quick.”

She grabs her arm and places a palm on Naomi’s forehead, point of contact with the angel’s grace flaring and burning like the sun.

The light becomes too much, and Castiel covers his eyes, panting.

He doesn’t see it when Naomi finally dies, screaming ‘til the last.

 

She collapses, eyes burnt and smoldering. Castiel tries to scramble away, but in a second Lilith’s at his side, hand clamped tight around his arm.

“Ah, ah. Can’t run, Castiel.”

She signals to the angel behind her, who steps forward into the light. Castiel whimpers.

Lilith tilts her head, smiling sweetly at him.

“Aren’t you going to thank us for saving your life?”

Castiel struggles against her, fingers clawing desperately at her tight grip.

“Hmm,” Lilith pouts. “Guess not.”

She jerks her head, calling Bela forward.

“Take him.”

 

She throws Castiel to Bela, and he sags in her arms. Gabriel tries to push himself up, but Lilith stops him with a hand.

“You’re not a part of this, trickster.” She turns her head slowly, fixing him with hard eyes. “Get out of my way, or you’ll be dust, like your demon friend.”

He falls back, clenching his fists. Lilith tilts her head, laughing softly.

“Or maybe you’d like to go the way of your parents?”

Gabriel freezes.

She laughs again, but then her eyes settle on Anna, lying still on the ground. The grin falters a little.

“Oh.” She tuts. “You managed to get her killed.”

Lilith disappears and appears instantly by her side, like the effort to take the few steps was beneath her dignity. She kneels, laying a hand on Anna’s forehead.

 

“Inconvenient, yes—but luckily, resurrection from Heaven is not quite as difficult as that from Hell.”

She glances up at Bela.

“Kill him."

Bela looks up, her expression strangely unsettled.

"What?"

Lilith narrows her eyes.

"You heard me."

"But Alastair—you said we needed them alive—"

"And now we don’t," Lilith snaps, sounding irritated. "Kill the extra, keep Castiel for now."

She glances down at him, a smile curling her lip.

"But once he ceases being useful, he dies."

 

 

Then they’re gone, Castiel’s scream echoing around the dark room.

 

 

 

x

 

_Anna stands in the doorway, chewing at the corner of her thumb._

_“It’s true, then?” She asks softly. “Monsters are real?”_

_Cas doesn’t answer right away. She fidgets, fighting the urge to bite at her nails._

_A bad habit, Dad had always said._

_Then again, he said a lot of things._

_Cas sighs._

_“Yeah.”_

_He gestures, patting the space beside him on the bed._

_She hesitates briefly, then timidly approaches him, falling onto the bed and immediately slipping under the crook of his arm._

_“Dad hunts them,” he explains, his voice soft. “I do too, sometimes. If he lets me. And he teaches me all the stuff he knows. Dad’s the best hunter out there,” he says, a note of childish pride in his voice._

_She listened wordlessly, accepting his explanation without argument._

_But from then on, nothing was the same._

_She couldn’t sleep for a couple nights after that. And one night, her brother knocked on her door, whispering so they wouldn’t wake Dad down the hall._

_“C’mon,” he says. “Wanna show you something.”_

 

_She follows him to the library and watches as he digs amongst a pile of old dusty boxes, finally surfacing with a small bronze charm._

_“Here,” he says, tipping it into her palm._

_“What is it?”_

_Cas takes her hand, leading her back to her bedroom._

_“It’s an amulet. For protection.”_

_He tucks her into bed, taking the charm from her and slipping it under her pillow._

_“It’ll keep all the monsters away,” he whispers. “Promise.”_

_“Even the one in my closet?”_

_He laughs softly, brushing her hair behind her ear._

_“Nah, ‘cause I already took care of him myself.” He presses a kiss to her temple._

_“Your room’s monster-free, Red.”_

_It became a kind of game, their very own. Not even a week had passed before Anna heard Castiel crying in the middle of the night, after a hunt gone bad. She quickly made her way to his room, her own turn to comfort._

_She slipped the amulet into his hand, clasping her fingers over his own._

_“For protection,” she whispered._

 

_Back and forth, any time a nightmare found them, any time they sought each other out for reassurance against the evil things in the dark._

_But then they grew. Anna wasn’t seven years old anymore, and she knew that a devil’s trap was better than any lump of old metal._

_But she dipped down, into their father’s workshop, and tried not to imagine him standing there, humming to himself as he worked. The pain was too fresh._

_She finally emerged triumphant, a thick cord threaded through the top of the amulet, and she went in search of Cas._

 

_He was in the cemetery, like always. Still couldn’t work up the courage to visit their father’s grave._

_“Here,” she whispers, sitting next to him on the bench. He turns to her and she places it gently over his head._

_He turned it over in his fingers, before clutching it tight, as if he could draw some strength from it._

_“What about you?” He asked shakily. “Don’t you need protection?”_

_“I have you,” she said._

 

_Then his arms were around her, and they held each other in the dim afternoon light._

_“Thanks, Anna.”_

_She smiles._

“Seriously?”

 

Anna jerks back, staring at Cas. But he’s the same as he was that day, smiling slightly as he turns it over in his fingers, his hand tight in hers.

But she can’t feel him.

She can’t feel anything anymore.

 

“Ridiculous,” the same voice mutters.

 

Lilith taps her foot.

“Sappy childhood memories, what did I expect?”

 

She strides forward, yanking Anna away from her brother. Cas doesn’t seem to notice.

Lilith digs her fingers into her arm, white light surrounding them, and Anna gasps, a sharp pain enveloping her.

“We need to talk.”

 

x

 

 

 

Castiel wants the sky to crack open and purge itself of blue.

There was nothing now.

They had her. It was over.

 

Bela seizes Castiel by the back of the collar, holding him firm.

“Stop struggling,” she says flatly. “It’s useless.”

Castiel sinks, falling to his hands. He curls his fingers against the ground, wordless tears falling.

Bela stands there, silent, watching him.

“I’m…”

She stops.

“I’m sorry for this,” she whispers.

 

Castiel looks up weakly. Bela looks at him for a moment, then tears her eyes away. She starts slowly towards Gabriel.

He doesn’t try to escape. He just stares up at her, face utterly blank.

 

But then, she freezes.

She stares straight ahead, the color in her face draining away.

 

 

The room goes utterly cold. A slow, creeping cold, soaking into his very soul. The air in the room is suddenly too thin, and Castiel can’t breathe, his heart thudding frantically in his chest.

 

 

“Well, now,” comes a sweet sultry voice, laced with blood and silk.

“What do we have here?”

 

 

 

 

 

Bela makes a quick dart for the back of the room, but a soft tsking noise freezes her.

Castiel breathes hard, trying not to move a muscle. The thing had appeared behind him, blocking her path. It takes soft steps, coming around his left side, pausing just out of the corner of his eye.

“Bela, darling. You’ve been very bad.”

 

Castiel takes a breath and looks up. He recoils.

He’s never seen her before, but he knows instinctively—angel. The power roiling under her skin affects him even from here—it radiates off her like a dark poisonous cloud. It rushes over him, and he feels it again—the burn, the heat, his mind sinking back into the rage and viciousness that was Hell.

He starts to sweat.

 

The angel walks forward, and Bela backs away, shaking. Castiel can see now—she’s dressed all in black, with dark, ugly stitches lining her neck.

She turns, catching his eyes for the first time.

Castiel nearly passes out.

 

She grimaces.

“I know. Gory, aren’t they?” She fingers the seam on her neck.

Her fingers come away bloody.

“Little Josie here is wearing a bit thin.”

She looks him over, a hungry glint in her eyes. She smiles broadly, turning her back.

Castiel gasps, his lungs suddenly burning and working again.

 

“Patience, Castiel,” she coos. “I’ll get to you soon enough.”

 

She glances at Bela again. She hasn’t moved.

The angel looks her up and down, a strange expression on her face.

“I did always like you, Bela. Even if you did side with my brother in the fight,” she says, her words taking on a slight steely edge.

Bela stays completely still, staring straight ahead.

“Never thought you’d see me above ground, did you?” She whispers softly.

She extends a hand, fingers curling gently around a lock of Bela’s hair. Bela doesn’t move, but Castiel sees her clench her hands, knuckles turning white.

“You know…”

She smiles prettily.

“I could strip you of your feathers, right here,” she murmurs. “One…by…one…”

All of them are frozen. The angel smiles, her eyes flicking briefly to Castiel before they catch sight of Naomi’s ruined body.

In a flash she’s got Bela pressed up against the wall, hissing in her face.

“Did you do this?”

 

Bela sputters in confusion, and the angel roars again.

“Naomi!” she shouts. “ _Did you kill her_?”

The lights crack and burst, and Castiel cowers away from the sparks.

“N-no—no!”

Bela is shaking her head furiously, sputtering explanations.

“Lilith—“ she gasps. “It was Lilith.”

The angel stares murderously at her for a few agonizing seconds—then she releases her, across the room and back at Castiel’s side, like the outburst never even happened.

 

 

“Leave.”

 

 

 

Castiel snaps his head up.

The angel is now focusing on the sleeve of her shirt, looking slightly bored.

Bela shoots a terrified glance at Castiel, then back to the angel in front of her, mouth open slightly, as if to question it.

The new angel notices and whirls, face contorting in anger.

“Do I have to ask again? _GET OUT!_ ”

The room thunders and crackles with light again, and Bela disappears in a hasty flash of wings.

 

 

The new angel closes her eyes briefly, taking a deep calming breath. The lights are still sparking feebly, casting eerie shadows through the room.

 

“Hello, Castiel.”

 

She steps forward, moving through the brief blocks of light. The lights illuminate her face, painting it ghostly white.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time,” she says.

She extends a hand.

 

“My name is Abaddon.”

 

Castiel can’t breathe. Something in him knew already, before she even said that—but the words have drained him, completely ripping apart any last shred of hope he had.

_Abaddon. The Destroyer._

 

Castiel swallows hard, slowly dragging his eyes up to look at the angel now towering over him, eyes green and poisonous.

“Lilith’s a nasty one, isn’t she?” She says conversationally, smiling down at him. She seems completely unfazed that Castiel hasn’t taken her hand.

“Devilish little girl. Must’ve planned on coming back for you later after she delivered Alastair his vessel.”

Castiel doesn’t respond. His heart is pounding.

“Probably didn’t count on the fact I was looking for you, too,” she says, pursing her lips. She finally retracts her hand, frowning slightly.

 

“Don’t know about this décor, though.”

She smiles, and Castiel floods with sudden dread. She raises a hand, and snaps her fingers.

The world swirls, everything flashing around them, and Castiel falls.

 

 

The last thing he sees is Gabriel’s panicked face, before everything goes black.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you for being so patient...I finally published my dcbb, and now i can 100% focus on this fic again.  
> ALSO, I never said, happy season 11! just a reminder, the offer still stands, come geek out with me about the newest episodes or just yell at me about this fic on my [tumblr](chevrolangels.tumblr.com).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some torture, canonical character death, and a shitton of angst. the apocalypse is finally here.

Anna bites against the pain, dragging her head up.

 

 

She peers through the haze of red, breathing hard. Lilith is calmly wiping her blade, not looking at her.

Anna tightens her hands on the arms of the chair, straining against the ropes. A slow drop of blood slides down her temple, slick, hot, before finally dropping away to the floor.

 

She’s still reeling over the fact that she had died—actually _died_ —and now she’s back and alive on this hellhole of an apocalyptic earth.

With Lilith’s first slice into her skin, Anna realized what she was in for—that Lilith is going to try to break her spirit, and prepare her for the possession. The angelic bitch had been giving Anna her best for she doesn’t know how long—but what Anna _does_ know is that she doesn’t plan on breaking.

 

 

The angel sets down the slim blade, and turns to select the next, her fingers dancing over the gleaming silver instruments laid out in front of her, almost reverent.

Anna breathes heavily, shutting her eyes tight.

 

_Okay. Focus. Catalogue._

 

She ignores the sound of empty steps up to her chair, trying to think.

 

_You’re weaponless. Bound. Your brother could be dead, for all you know—and Gabriel too—but if you say yes, there’ll be a lot more blood on your hands._

Anna tugs slightly at the ties around her wrists. They’re just loose enough that she can curl her wrist, fingers just brushing the edge of her sleeve.

 

“I could do this all night, you know.”

Lilith has come to a stop in front of her, her dark eyes glittering.

“Got nowhere else to be,” she murmurs.

Anna tilts her head back, curling her lip.

“Didn’t it occur to you to ask nicely?”

Lilith’s expression doesn’t waver. Her hand shoots out fast—and Anna flinches, the blade stopping inches from her neck.

She smirks, tapping the blade gently against Anna's pulse.

“Smug is a bad color on you, child.”

 

The angel straightens, her weapon hand falling to her side, for now. She purses her lips.

“Now. Let’s talk.”

 

Anna coughs on her laugh, turning her head slightly.

“Talk? We couldn’t have done that before?”

Lilith glances down at the blade, smiling slightly. She folds her hands behind her back.

“Just wanted to make sure I had your attention.”

 

Anna glares at her, pulling a little at her restraints, but they’re solid. She shifts slightly to the left.

Lilith straightens, turning back to the table.

“You will break, Anna,” she says, like she’s merely stating a fact. “But I do think it’ll go a little faster if we’re on the same page. In regards to your fate.”

Anna shifts again, the tips of her fingers just grasping the boxcutter tucked into her sleeve. Jackpot.

“Yeah?” She asks, adding a disdainful note to her voice. “What makes you so sure?”

Lilith turns, smiling coolly. Anna stills the motion of her hands as those icicle eyes fall on her, narrowing slightly.

“I trained under Alastair, alongside Dean. We’re masters of our craft.”

Anna feels a slight lurch in her stomach, and for a moment, she forgets her bonds.

“What?” She croaks out.

 

Lilith tilts her head, amusement in her eyes.

“What? You didn’t know?”

She stabs the blade into the table. It hisses, smoking slightly. Anna jerks back a little, breathing in sharply. Lilith smirks.

“Yes,” she purrs. “Not quite the white knight he claims to be.”

 

Anna latches onto the rising anger inside her, and very carefully gets the boxcutter out, shifting so its hidden from Lilith’s gaze. She starts to move her wrist, slowly, back and forth.

 

Lilith is still talking.

“No wonder he took such a liking to that worthless human. Do you think they exchange tips?”

“Fuck you,” Anna snarls.

Lilith smiles wider, blind to Anna’s fraying bonds.

 

“So much anger,” she says softly. “You and your brother are quite alike.”

 

She moves around the table, approaching Anna’s chair.

“You understand nothing. Earlier? That was just a warmup.” She leans in, close enough that Anna can feel her breath in her ear.

“I’m saving the best for last, baby.” Lilith strokes her cheek, smearing through the blood there.

“Because I serve Heaven,” Lilith coos. “And you will say yes. So you can stop trying to escape.”

Anna looks up, shocked. Lilith wiggles the boxcutter.

“Looking for this?”

 

Anna clenches the arms of the chair, desperately praying in her head.

 

 _Dean,_ she calls. _Dean, please—help me—_

A quick slap shocks her eyes open. Anna falls back, her cheek stinging.

 

Lilith wags a finger.

“None of that now.”

 

She drops the boxcutter, kicking it away without a second glance.

“Don’t you know? Alastair flipped a switch up in Heaven.” She circles around, pulling a falsely sympathetic smile. “You may have noticed, Dean didn’t pop up when you died. The guardianship bond is gone.”

Anna snarls, but Lilith’s face is glowing in triumph.

“Dean doesn’t know you’re here,” she sneers. “No one knows.”

Lilith thinks it over, then laughs.

“Well, except Castiel. And he’s with our Bela.” She smiles. “They’re old friends.”

 

Anna glares at her.

“Alastair. Right.”

She leans back, pulling up a cocky smile, the one she had learned from Cas. It's second nature, now, sneering back at the monster gloating over how they're going to kill you. Anna’s seen this all before. Lilith is just the same. But with a bigger ego.

“Your boss,” Anna says, hissing out the word. “Big man upstairs, who's still not beneath jumping into my head and threatening me like some middle school bully.”

Lilith’s smile disappears. Anna lifts an eyebrow.

“So. Why didn’t he come get me himself?”

Lilith stares back, her pale eyes gleaming, almost hungry.

“He’s much too busy to come to this _dump_ ,” she hisses. “This is beneath him.”

Anna smirks.

“But it’s just fine for you?”

Lilith’s jaw tightens.

 

She steps back, taking a breath, trying to regain her composure.

“Believe me. I had no interest in coming down here into one of these smelly things,” the angel mutters, gesturing carelessly at herself. “But the Word required it.”

“Christ, not this again,” Anna groans.

 

Lilith’s eyes flash.

 

“You want to kill the devil. We want you to kill the devil.” She leans forward. “We’re on the same team, girl.”

Anna snarls.

“And I’m just supposed to trust you?”

 

Lilith sighs impatiently.

“Apocalypse…I admit, the name is damning. But when we win—because we will win—it’ll be paradise. Why wouldn’t you want that?”

Anna scoffs.

“Right. And what happens to us? To the _humans_?”

Lilith pauses.

“Well,” she says slyly. “There are always…casualties.”

She leans down, staring mercilessly into Anna’s eyes.

“But if Abaddon goes unchallenged, you know how many will die? All of them.” Her lips curl.

“She’ll destroy the planet and everything on it. Including every last member of your filthy race.”

“Angel or not, I will stab you,” Anna growls.

Lilith smiles slightly, before turning her back on Anna, walking back to the table, smartly ripping her blade from the wood. Anna shakes her head.

 

“I know exactly why you’re telling me all this bullshit,” she mutters. “You still need my consent.”

Lilith turns sharply.

“Unfortunately,” she says. Anna smiles.

“Well, you’re not getting it,” she spits. “And it doesn’t matter that you have me. Torture me all you want. Cas will stop you.”

Cas will save her. He always has before.

“Castiel,” Lilith repeats slowly. “Yes. He does have a part to play.”

Anna pauses.

“What? What do you mean?”

 

Lilith laughs airily, coming to stand back next to her. She pats her on the shoulder, and Anna really,  _really_ wishes she could punch her, right in her smug face.

“Believe me, we’ll try to make sure he _doesn’t_ play that part, but you needn’t worry about that now.”

She bends down low, her almost silvery blonde hair sweeping over Anna’s arm.

“I’d worry about yourself.”

 

Lilith brings her blade up again, dragging it slowly down Anna’s cheek. Anna keeps her eyes locked on hers, refusing to blink.

“Give yourself to Alastair,” Lilith whispers. “And we can strike, before your brother dies. Before billions die.”

 

Anna clenches her fists.

“Eat me,” she snarls back.

 

But Lilith just smiles.

“This defiance won’t last long.”

 

She stands slowly, eyes falling to her silver knife.

“By the time I’m through with you, you’re going to be begging to say yes.”

 

Lilith smiles coldly, and starts to roll up her sleeves. Anna closes her eyes, bracing herself for another round of torture and pain.

 

 

Then there’s the soft sound of wings. Anna looks up, at the angel who’s appeared behind Lilith, her face filled with an unmasked terror.

Lilith turns, irritated at the interruption. But once she sees who it is, a slow smile crosses her face.

 

“Bela. Excellent.”

She nods towards Anna.

“I think it’s time you bring me Castiel. Perhaps she will respond to his cries instead.”

 

Anna sucks in a breath.

 

 

_Alive then. Alive._

 

 

x

 

 

 

He looks up.

They’re in a lavishly furnished room, dark green walls and a soft glow of light. Abaddon leans back leisurely against an ornate table, picking up a golden bowl full of red fruit.

 

She holds it out to him.

“Cherry?”

 

Castiel stares at her. She shakes it slightly.

“Come on,” she teases. “I know they’re your favorite.”

 

Castiel can’t bring himself to speak. His whole body is frozen. His mind is in shock.

Abaddon raises an eyebrow at his stillness, but shrugs.

“Whatever. More for me.”

 

She pops one into her mouth, teeth biting crisply into the red flesh.

Castiel scrambles to make sense of anything.

“I—how—“

“How did I find you?” She seizes on his question, pursing her lips. “Well. Naomi was of help, of course.”

She appears beside him, gripping his side. Castiel gasps as a bolt of pain stings through him.

“Fractured one of your ribs,” she continues. “You’re shining like a beacon, with that warding damaged,” she murmurs, stroking absentmindedly down his side.

“Probably should fix that.”

 

A sharp shock twists inside him, his bones shifting back into place. Castiel clamps a hand to his stomach, choking slightly.

Abaddon smiles, and retreats, turning back to the cherries on the center table.

 

Castiel stands cautiously, using the wall behind him for support. Abaddon turns, watching him.

He lifts his head high, drawing on the last of his courage.

“If you want to kill me, go ahead.”

Abaddon pauses, but doesn’t speak. Her eyes are staring into his very soul, piercing through him and ripping him apart, and Castiel is shaking.

“Kill you?”

She steps closer, tilting her lips towards his.

A trickle of blood drips down her neck.

“How…”

She sucks a breath in through her teeth.

“Boring.”

 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Castiel whispers. But truthfully, he’s not sure how longer he’ll be able to stay standing.

Her eyes roam over his face, slow and cataloguing.

“Oh, Castiel.”

She brings a hand up, softly cupping his cheek.

“So very brave.”

Abaddon smiles.

 

“And so very stupid.”

 

Castiel hits the ground, scrabbling at his chest.

He convulses, trying to suck down air. He feels like he’s caving in, he can’t breathe—

“Your lungs are gone, just in case you were wondering.”

 

The words sluggishly filter through his brain. He rasps, scraping his fingernails against the ground, his mouth dripping blood.

Abaddon isn’t looking at him. She’s fishing another cherry out of the bowl in front of her, chewing at the stem.

“You will probably die in about three minutes, give or take.”

She draws the stem from her mouth, admiring it briefly before tossing it somewhere over shoulder.

“I can’t guarantee it will be painless,” she says carelessly. “Then again, they say your brain shuts down towards the end, so maybe you’ll avoid the worst of it.”

Castiel can’t talk, or beg her to stop. He just uselessly clutches at his throat, writhing on the ground.

Abaddon sighs again, and flicks her hand. The air surges back into him, and he greedily gulps it down, gasping.

 

When he recovers, he looks up. She’s not looking at him, inspecting her fingernails. Castiel coughs, trying to stand.

“Torture me all you want,” he growls, spitting blood. “You’re not touching my sister.”

Abaddon looks up, frowning.

“Anna?” She cocks her head. “Why would I want her?”

The back of Castiel’s neck prickles. He pushes himself up into sitting position, glaring at her.

“She’s your brother’s _true_ _vessel,_ or whatever—that bullshit God cooked up—but I’m not telling you—“

“Alastair can rot in Hell,” Abaddon says, her voice low with sudden rage. “Along with your precious Anna.”

Castiel jolts unsteadily forward, stopping at the last moment. His gut twists, the image of his sister, lying limp on the ground, and he nearly folds over. But Abaddon’s standing in front of him again, one hand catching his shoulder, and Castiel recoils as a rush of anger and seething hatred surges over him, soaking him in blackness. He sinks back against the wall, panting.

“It’s okay, pet,” Abaddon coos. “Just you and me now.”

 

She steps forward, lowering herself until her eyes are level with Castiel’s. He wrenches them away, looking up at the ceiling, praying desperately to nothing.

 

“I understand you were a student of my Naomi. Shame. I rather liked her.”

 

Abaddon trails her fingers down Castiel’s chest, which is rising and falling with the effort to keep down his screams. Her fingers slip under his collar and drag it aside, exposing the tip of the red scar on his chest.

“Yes,” Abaddon breathes. “I think this will do nicely.”

 

Castiel thinks he stops breathing.

 

 

“What?” He shudders out.

Abaddon’s eyes are soft, the imitation of mercy.

“I think you already know,” she whispers.

 

 

 

Something takes root deep inside him, something deep and horrible.

No.

 

“It’s you, Castiel,” she murmurs, one hand drifting up to comb through his hair. “It’s always been you.”

 

 

x

 

 

There’s silence, and then quick whispered words, and Lilith’s thunderous explosion.

“ _WHAT_?”

 

Anna snaps her eyes open. Lilith is advancing on Bela, fury in her eyes.

“You _lost_ him?”

Anna panics, jerking against the ropes, but Lilith’s next words freeze her cold.

“Abaddon— _Abaddon—_ “

Bela backs away.

“The _one_ thing I instructed, do not let Castiel fall into her hands—“ Lilith roars.

Bela tries to speak.

“She would have killed me—“

“Then you should have _died_!” Lilith yells. “Died instead of betray Heaven!”

Bela’s eyes briefly flick over to Anna, her expression panicked.

Lilith glares at the angel in front of her, fuming. Then she closes her eyes, her shoulders settling.

“Bela.”

 

She twists her arm, the silver blade winking brightly in her hand.

“I have had enough of your incompetence,” she says smoothly.

Then she starts forward, slow, unhurried. Bela’s hand twitches.

Anna looks down, stunned.

 

 

Her bonds are gone.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

“As it is in Heaven, so shall it be on Earth,” Abaddon says softly. “A sort of…poetic symmetry.”

 

“No.”

Castiel chokes on the word.

“No.”

 

Abaddon kneels softly, moving in between his legs.

“You know, I rather liked this one,” she murmurs. She lifts one hand, regarding it as if it were a particularly fine piece of cloth. “Pretty girl from Kansas. I’ll be sad to let her go.”

Abaddon smiles, the hand dropping to his knee. She moves slowly, dragging the tips of her fingers up his thigh. Castiel shudders.

“But now that you’re here…”

She pauses at his hip, flicking her eyes up to his face.

“Could have a lot of fun with this body,” she breathes.

 

“Well, hands off,” Castiel snarls. “You’re not getting it.”

He shoves her back, scrambling up and away from her. He runs, but there’s nowhere to go. No windows. No doors. Nothing but the endless green walls, trapping him in.

He spins, backing away into the corner. Abaddon is still watching him.

 

“Feels good, right?” She whispers. “The anger?”

 

She steps slowly forward, and Castiel inches along the wall, his eyes fixed on hers.

“You’ve always felt it, haven’t you?” She asks softly. “I know you have.”

 

Abaddon stops in front of him.

“I know, because I’ve felt it, too.”

Castiel is frozen.

 

“I felt everything you felt, Castiel,” Abaddon whispers. “Even down below. Your pain. Your hurt. You… _ached_ for me.”

“No,” Castiel chokes out. “No—“

Abaddon grabs his wrist, and Castiel is helpless to fight back, those terrible eyes fixed on his.

“No?” She echoes darkly. She looks down, eyes settling on the worn wooden beads wrapped around his wrist.

“First,” she breathes, “the death of your mother. Your inability to help. Your refusal to understand.”

Her fingers dig into the beads, and they cut painfully into his skin, straining against their cord. Castiel weakly shakes his head.

“Please—“

“Then your father,” Abaddon continues, her voice hissing in his ears. “For leaving you, for forcing you into this life, for favoring Anna above _everything_ else…”

Castiel continues to numbly shake his head. He can’t speak, can’t think through her choking aura of death and hate—he just tries to breathe.

“Then…seeing the one person you love above everything else, betray you,” Abaddon whispers. “And stand at the side of a demon.”

 

She lifts a hand, brushing his cheek.

“I would be angry, too.”

 

Castiel is motionless, just staring at her. She really is beautiful, in a terrible sort of way. Her lips peel back to reveal too-white teeth, her smile sweet and gentle.

“You could ignore it, pretend it didn’t define you, but Hell brought it forth again,” she says softly. “Didn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer. Abaddon glances up, meeting his eyes.

“We’re a lot alike, Castiel,” she murmurs.

 

He jerks his hands back abruptly.

“I—“

He’s frozen, crouched before her, almost at a loss.

“No.”

He finds his strength again, scrambling away.

 

“Think, Castiel.”

 

Abaddon follows him, her words sharp and piercing.

“Unloved by our fathers, second to the golden child…betrayed by the siblings who were, above all, the ones we were supposed to trust the most.”

Castiel struggles to remain calm, but his heartbeat is pounding in his ears, too loud, too hard.

“I was supposed to protect him,” Abaddon snarls, an ugly tone creeping into her voice. “I would protect Alastair, and he was supposed to _love_ me.”

She stops abruptly, her hands clenching the edge of the table in the middle.

“But instead, he betrayed me.” Her eyes flare, and the room seems to darken around them. “Condemned me to that cage for eternity. For _humans_ ,” she hisses, like the very word itself is dirty.

“For disobeying,” Castiel whispers.

 

Abaddon goes still. She lifts her head slowly, a violent gleam in her eyes.

“For disobeying God,” she echoes. And for the first time, her cool composure seems to have been shaken.

She slowly looks back down, at the lacquered wood beneath her hands.

They’re both frozen.

 

 

Abaddon seizes the table and hurls it at the wall.

 

 

It smashes with a sickening sound, and Castiel throws himself away from the shards of wood that fly in his direction, crashing painfully against the wall. He falls into a pile of glass, hissing as it cuts into his palms.

Abaddon is breathing heavily, staring at the shattered remains. She whirls.

“God is no longer a part of this _story_ ,” she yells. “I will not let—“

 

She stops abruptly, her eyes murderous. Castiel is framed opposite her, chest heaving.

He clutches his bloody hands to his chest, almost wanting to laugh—delirious with it. The piercing power of her rage throbs between them like a twisted cord, he can feel every pulse and thought—that thick, familiar anger, and it terrifies him. Castiel knows now. It’s always been her. She had been planning this from the beginning. Made him like this. Like her.

 

 

Abaddon takes a slow breath in, calming slightly. She opens her eyes.

“My brother cast me into Hell,” she murmurs.  “Didn’t your sister do the same to you?”

 

She walks forward.

“We’ll kill them all, Castiel.”

He wants to back away, but there’s nowhere to go.

“The demons that manipulated your sister.”

His fingers curl uselessly, blood dripping to the floor.

“The god who put your aunt and uncle in the hospital.”

He stares at her, his mouth open.

“The man who killed your mother,” Abaddon says softly. “That lowlife with a revolver, wandering through the neighborhood...who thought a church would be easy pickings.”

 

Castiel clenches his fists, even though it makes the cuts in his palms burn and spasm with pain.

“Never,” he whispers hoarsely. “That’s not who I am.”

 

Abaddon’s face flashes with a dark irritation, her voice no longer soft and comforting.

 

“How do you know you don’t want this?” She snaps. “That itch you’ve felt, niggling at the back of your mind? You’ve never been truly whole, never truly complete.”

 

She drops down, taking his face gently in her hands. He shudders, eyes sliding closed.

“I will complete you,” Abaddon whispers. “We will be one.”

 

 

Castiel breathes hard, not daring to move. He gasps when she grasps his hands with her own, his eyes shocking open.

“I am an angel of mercy,” Abaddon breathes.

 

She slowly passes a palm over his skin, healing his cuts. He wordlessly lets her.

 

“You will break, Castiel.”

 

She stares at him, unblinking.

 

“Sooner or later…you will break. You know it’s true.”

 

And he does. God help him, he does.

Castiel bites back his sob.

He’s not strong. He never has been.

 

She’s going to destroy him.

 

 

 

“What will happen to me?” He asks shakily.

 

Abaddon pauses.

“Hard to say,” she says softly. “They’re never very talkative after.”

Castiel can’t breathe.

“Your body may survive, but your mind will not.”

 

 

His eyes drop down to their hands, still entwined.

 

“And Anna.”

He looks up, to find Abaddon watching him closely.

“She’ll be safe?” He whispers.

 

And slowly, Abaddon nods.

“As long as Alastair is dead, she’ll have nothing to fear.”

 

Castiel almost wants to believe her.

 

 

 

“What do I have to do?”

 

 

 

 

Suddenly, Castiel is on his feet. A brisk cold hits them, and he looks around to see the soft sloping entrance to the cabin. He freezes.

 

“A test, Castiel.”

Abaddon drops his hands.

“You’ve got something of mine in that little hidey-hole of yours.”

 

 

_The blade._

 

In the open air, away from that hazy green room, Castiel’s mind clears slightly. Not this. He never agreed to this.

“You bring me my blade," Abaddon is saying. "And I will let your friends live.”

 

Castiel panics. He bolts, ripping away from her.

With a crack like a gunshot, his leg breaks. He drops to the ground with a cry, collapsing in pain.

 

 

“Ah, ah, ah.”

 

 

Abaddon walks slowly over to him, and Castiel reels, catching a whiff of perfume, the scent of roses.

 

_Angels are watching over you—_

She bends down low, whispering cruelly in his ear.

“Behave, Castiel. Your bones are not your only weakness.”

 

She starts to whisper instructions, that Castiel is to enter the cabin, take the blade, and alert no one to their presence.

“If you try anything…”

Abaddon trails off, her eyes narrowed.

 

“I will wait here and kill every last one of you the minute you try to walk out that door.”

 

 

She glances at the old cabin, her brow darkening.

“Unlike me, your family will not have to die by your hand,” she murmurs. “I can give you that, at least.”

 

Abaddon pulls him roughly from the ground, pressing a hand to his chest. He stumbles, the bone in his leg knitting back together in an instant. Abaddon wastes no time, shoving him towards the door. She positions herself behind him, crossing her arms.

 

She fixes him with a cold smile.  
“I await your return, Castiel.” She begins to shimmer, winking into invisibility. “For their sake, do not take long.”

 

 

x

 

 

Lilith continues to scream.

 

“First the traitor, then failing to capture one, _simple_ human, and letting him slip through your fingers—”

Bela gives Anna a slight nod, once, so brief and tiny, she might have missed it.

“Consider your employment terminated,” Lilith snarls.

 

She raises her hand, but Bela’s too quick for her—she knocks the knife away and it goes flying—then she seizes Lilith and pins her, locking her wrists tight.

Lilith snarls, pushing against Bela, but Anna is already out of the chair and across the room.

 

She scoops up the knife, and stabs Lilith in the back.

 

 

Bela releases her, stumbling back. Lilith is frozen, a small gasp escaping her lips as Anna recoils, yanking the blade from her body.

 

Lilith’s eyes start to shine, flaring with a burning light. Anna has to shield her eyes—and Lilith dies with an explosion of grace, the room flashing white.

 

Her empty body collapses, flaking white-ash wings spread across the floor.

 

 

Anna lowers her hand, breathing hard. She glances up, fixing her eyes on Bela. The angel swallows, meeting Anna’s gaze.

“Thank you,” she says in between pants for breath.

 

Anna tightens her grip on the handle.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

She raises the angel blade, placing it to Bela’s neck.

 

 

“Where’s my brother?”

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel walks inside and shuts the door quickly behind him, falling back against it.

He’s almost hyperventilating, unable to get the air into his lungs.

He’s acutely aware of the sigils around him, knowing they’re the only things protecting him, the only things that stand between the people he loves and a slow death. He stares at one of them for a long moment, tracing the familiar lines with his eyes, his body cold and numb.

 

 

He walks shakily forward, wiping his eyes. Gabriel will be safe, he’s still stuck back at the church, and Anna—

 

Castiel halts, taking a shuddering breath.

 

There’s no one here. There’s no one _here._

He didn’t realize before, he was nearly delirious, he hadn’t thought—but now—

The cabin’s empty.

And Abaddon doesn't know.

 

Castiel kicks into action, his body thrumming in fear. He heads for the books in the main room, his mind whirling. He can adjust the sigils, make sure the three angels can’t get in—and then it’ll be okay. They’ll be safe, and he can hide here.

He grabs one of the books, flipping feverishly through it, trying to remember the proper sigils. This is better. No one will be able to get to the cabin, the blade will stay locked away—and it’ll be fine. Castiel will starve himself to stay away from Abaddon. Just as long as he doesn’t put the rest of them in danger.

 

“Cas?”

 

 

Castiel freezes.

Oh god. No. No.

 

He turns. Sam is standing there, holding some ancient text in his hands.

“Hey,” he says tiredly. His eyes roam over Castiel, seeing his stillness, and down to the book in his own hands. Sam gestures towards it, his expression guilty.

“Hope you don’t mind, I, uh—just got a little bored.”

Sam rubs his arm.

“I’m not as healing quickly as I hoped,” he mutters.

 

Castiel is numb. He should have known—Sam’s time as Crowley’s captive had hurt him deeply. He’s probably still repairing himself, not only the damage to his body, but his grace as well. Of course Sam would be here.

Of course.

 

“Where are you coming from? A hunt?” Sam peers over Castiel's shoulder. “Where’s Anna?”

 

_Dead. She’s dead._

“Anna,” Castiel repeats dazedly. Sam tilts his head, looking at him curiously.

Castiel falters, tripping over his tongue.

“S-supply run,” he lies shakily, dropping the book of sigils on the table.

 

Sam frowns.

“You okay?”

He’s watching him carefully, and Castiel hides his trembling hands behind his back.

“Fine,” he mumbles hastily. “I’m fine.”

 

God—should he risk it? Just him and Sam could make it out, maybe, slip out under her nose—

Sam nods, but his eyes show his concern. He taps a hand against the page, looking like he’s working up the courage to say something.

 

Castiel takes a deep breath. He should tell him. Sam could probably figure out something.

 

“Hey, uh,” Sam starts hesitantly. “Dean’s in your room.”

 

 

Castiel stills.

 

Sam bites his lip.

“Pretty sure he’s been sulking all day. You…”

He smiles apologetically.

“None of my business, but you guys had a fight, right?”

Castiel can’t speak. Sam mistakes that for an answer, smiling softly.

“Go talk to him,” he says gently. “I’ll be in the back.”

Sam turns and takes the book with him, burying his nose back into the pages.

 

Castiel is left alone, unable to breathe. The hall seems to stretch infinitely, and the air is thin.

He can’t see Dean. He can’t.

 

 

He moves quickly now, haunted by the possibility.

 

 

Castiel looks around wildly for the blade, nearly tearing the library apart. He finally spies it, a glinting black thing, on the top shelf of the bookcase—Sam must have moved it there—

He reaches for it, but draws his hand back, shuddering.

He doesn’t want to touch it.

 

He grabs a jacket left hanging over one of the chairs and picks it up gingerly, wrapping it in the cloth and shoving it into a bag. Even now, he can feel the power pulsing from it, less strong than its owner, but no less terrible.

Castiel turns, slinging the bag over his shoulder. His eyes are threatening to blur with tears again.

 _I’m sorry,_ he wants to whisper. _I’m sorry._

 

He’s almost to the door, when he hears footsteps, soft and hesitant behind him.

Castiel stiffens.

 

 

 

“Hey, Cas.”

 

 

Dean’s voice is timid. Hopeful.

Castiel closes his eyes. Then he turns.

 

Dean’s standing there, shifting his weight awkwardly, hands in his pockets. He looks up at Castiel’s face, then down at his feet.

 

Castiel can’t say anything. He can only stare, knowing that this will be the last time they see each other, and he can do nothing to prevent it. Those stupid tears threaten to come forward again, but Castiel beats them back. For Dean. He can’t let him know.

“Cas, I—“

Dean stops, running a hand through his sandy hair. Castiel watches as his fingers stray through the delicate strands, but instead of smoothing them, it only creates a more rumpled mess. Castiel aches.

And if an idea has struck him, Dean raises a hand.

“Wait—“

He pulls something out of thin air, turning it over in his hands. Castiel doesn’t move.

“What is that?” He asks, his voice flat.

Dean smiles shyly.

“Uh—a menu. The diner we went to—um, you know.” He shrugs. “On our…first date.”

Castiel swallows. Oh god. No.

 

“I just thought…well, maybe we could go again,” Dean stammers, glancing up at him. “Of course, if you’re—if you’re up for it.” His fingers play with the plastic edge, fiddling with the corners.

“I mean—um. Only if you want to.”

 

His anxious smile kills him.

But Castiel can’t move. Dean chews his lip for a moment, his tone hesitant.

 

“Listen—“

Dean falters, trying to find the right words.

“I—I was stupid. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have—“ He laughs nervously, scratching his head. “God, Cas—you know me. I’m a fucking idiot at the best of times.”

He looks up, desperate to make him smile.

“But I wanna make it up to you, okay?” He takes a step forward. “We can figure this out.”

 

Castiel is silent.

 

Dean looks down at his hands, suddenly frowning.

“This is dumb,” he stutters, eyes darting about. “You always know what you want, I don’t know why I brought this.”

Dean meets his eyes, trying to smile. Hoping that Castiel will interrupt him, that he’ll walk over and say it’s fine, that he loves the thoughtfulness, that he loves him.

But he doesn’t.

 

“Dean.”

 

Something in Castiel’s voice tips him off, and Dean freezes.

“Yeah?”

He swallows.

“What’s up?” He asks lightly, trying not betray the emotions rolling beneath the surface.

Castiel doesn’t try.

 

“We can’t do this,” he whispers.

 

Dean’s face doesn’t move an inch.

“What?” He says, just the slightest tightening at the corners of his mouth.

Castiel inhales deeply, backing away.

“I’m walking out that door,” he blurts. “And please don’t follow me. Don’t.”

 

Dean looks like he’s slapped him.

“Wh—Cas—”

_Abaddon,_ he wants to scream.

 

Castiel swallows, the name sticking in his throat.

If he tells Dean, he’ll march right out there and get himself killed.

Stupid, reckless, Dean, who’s always so willing to put another’s life before his own. He would run headfirst towards death if he thought it would save Castiel.

And Castiel’s not going to let that happen.

 

“I can’t—just—“

Castiel knows it’s too late for him, and fuck—he never had much hope in surviving in the first place—but Dean doesn’t have to die because of him. Dean could live.

But the only way Dean would leave is if he thought Castiel wanted him to go.

If he thought…

 

Dean is still moving toward him, his hand outstretched. He’s masking his terror well, but Castiel can still see it, and it breaks what little remains of his heart.

“Cas…”

Castiel cuts him off.

“I’m leaving,” he snaps. “Don’t you dare come after me.”

“Is this—“

Dean’s eyes are frantic.

“What did I do? Cas—“

Castiel has to bite down on his tongue to keep from screaming.

“Is this because of the other night?” Dean asks, sounding panicked. “Please, _please_ —we can make it right, Cas, I’m so sorry—“

Castiel backs away. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want Dean to struggle. He wanted him to react with anger, flash away—that would be easier. It would be a thousand times better than Dean standing broken in front of him, begging for forgiveness.

“Cas—“

“No,” Castiel snaps, his whole body shaking.

Dean’s fighting back tears.

“I—I love you, just— _please_ —“

He takes clumsy steps forward, reaching for him. But Castiel is frozen, like stone.

He hates this. He wants to die. To throw himself back into Hell.

 

There was no coming back from this.

 

 

“Get away from me,” Castiel hisses.

 

 

Dean’s eyes widen, and his whole body stills. He stares at him in shock.

“You psycho son of a bitch,” Castiel whispers menacingly, hating himself as he does so. “I don’t want you. You hear me? _I don’t want you_.”

Dean is utterly frozen, staring at him.

“I meant everything I said that night,” Castiel snarls. “You think I could ever forgive you for what you did? I told you next time you lied to me I wouldn’t forgive you. I can _never_ trust you again.”

Dean takes an unsteady step back, shaking his head.

“No. No. Cas—“

Castiel advances on him, snarling.

“Never,” he growls. “Can I ever really know you won’t hurt me again? All you’ve ever done is ruin our lives, ruin _me_ —“

Dean doesn’t let him finish—he’s gone before Castiel can harsh out any more false accusations, the table shaking violently as he disappears. Castiel stares at it, eyes sliding out of focus.

 

But he doesn’t cry. He doesn’t have the energy anymore.

 

He wordlessly picks up the bag and walks out the front door, slamming it behind him.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so much fucking angst. holy shit.  
> poor cas :(
> 
> also, thank you so much for being so patient. This chapter made me want to rip my hair out and chuck my laptop out the window.   
> only four chapters left!

When they appear in the middle of the library, Sam nearly smites them both.

 

 

“Anna—“ he blurts, immediately dropping his hand. “What are you—“

“Holy oil,” Anna orders, keeping the blade to Bela’s throat. “Now.”

 

Sam stares at her for a moment, glancing briefly at Bela. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop to ask questions.

He stands quickly, Anna backing Bela into the corner of the room, the tip of the blade just under her chin. Sam spills the oil behind Anna, igniting it with a snap of his fingers once she’s clear.

 

He falls behind her, silent, but his eyes full of questions. Anna turns to the imprisoned angel, tightening her grip on the blade.

“Now,” she says, deadly quiet. “Let’s try this again.”

 

Bela’s eyes track Anna. She doesn’t move.

“Where’s my brother?”

 

Bela just stares back from inside the flaming ring, impassive.

 

 

“Wait—what?”

 

Anna whips around. Sam is staring at her.

“I—wait. What are you talking about?” His gaze darts back and forth, to Bela, then back to Anna’s panicked face. “Cas was just here.”

 

Anna goes pale.

_“What?”_

Sam jerks his hands up, backing away slightly.

“He was—he was _here_ , I _talked_ to him,” he rushes out, looking utterly confused. “He said you were on a supply run.”

“When?” Anna yells. “ _When—_ “

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Bela says sharply.

They both whirl, gaping at her. Anna snarls, bolting forward.

“If you did this—“

Sam grabs her arm, holding her back.

“Anna, _wait_ —“

“Abaddon took him.”

 

They both freeze.

 

“What?” Anna whispers.

Sam has gone completely still. Anna isn’t struggling anymore, and he clings weakly to her arm, staring at Bela.

“What did you say?” 

 

Bela turns to him, her voice cold.

“Back at the church,” she mutters. “She took him—from me. After Lilith had gone with you,” she says, jerking her head towards Anna.

 

Anna can barely breathe.

“How—“

“It was Naomi,” Bela says quickly. “Damaged his warding. That’s how we were able to find you. And Abaddon too.”

 

Anna can’t think. After months—of dread, of fear and protections and spells—it didn’t end up doing shit. The devil came anyway.

 

“But why—“

Anna stops, clenching her hand around the cool metal of the blade, struggling to make sense of anything.

“Why would she want Cas?”

She darts a frantic glance to Sam, but he just shakes his head.

“Perhaps to get at you? Something to stop Alastair—“

“You don’t know?”

 

They both fall silent again. Bela’s face shifts briefly, but in an instant it’s gone, the mask sliding back into place.

 

“Castiel is the vessel,” she says. “Abaddon’s true vessel.”

 

 

Anna can’t move.

 

She thinks something inside of her shuts down—some last flare of hope dying out. It’s a thousand times worse than her finding out about Alastair—because this is Cas, _Castiel_ , the one constant in her life, the one she's been trying so hard to make sure survives this fucking apocalypse—

And now the damn devil herself had her brother in her claws. Anna wants to scream.

 

She grips Sam’s arm.

“Sam,” she chokes out. “Did you—did you—“

“I didn’t,” he says hoarsely, horrified. “I swear, I didn’t know—“

“And he—“

Anna takes a jerky step forward, bringing a hand to her forehead.

“But why would she bring Cas here? Unless he escaped—you think he got away?"

“Doubtful,” comes Bela’s snide voice.

Anna whips around. Why hadn’t she killed this bitch again?

“I believe you had some valuable property,” the angel sniffs, casting her eyes around the room. “At least those were the whispers.”

 

Sam and Anna speak at the same time.

“The blade.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s gone.

It’s _gone_.

 

 

And Cas, _Cas_ —

 

“He took it,” Anna breathes, trying not to hyperventilate. “Why—“

“Leverage.”

Sam is staring at the wall, unseeing, a slow simmering rage to his words.

“I know Abaddon. She doesn’t like getting her hands too dirty. Thinks it’s beneath her.” He shakes his head. “Instead she finds weaknesses, and exploits them. And Cas’s biggest weakness is…”

“Us,” Anna finishes, horrified.

 

She turns away, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

 

“Damn you, Cas.”

She crushes her hand into a fist, choking back tears.

“You damn self-sacrificing _bastard_.”

 

 

“And Dean.”

Sam is quiet.

“They must have talked. Do you think—“

“I can only imagine what he said,” Anna says shakily. “Anything to get him out of danger.”

She draws in a shaking breath.

“It’s over,” she whispers.

 

Sam comes around to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. Anna wipes her eyes, catching sight of the angel, still trapped in the corner.

 

Anger curls through her gut.

“What do we do with her?” She mutters. The angel may have saved her, but that doesn’t mean Anna has to owe her a damn thing.

They glare at each other, through the smell of burning oil and the stale air of the cabin.

 

“She’s no use to us,” Sam says, glaring at her coldly. “Bela’s only friend is herself.”

 

Bela turns her head, cold green eyes meeting Sam’s.

“Don’t you dare look down your nose at me, Sammael,” she says sharply. “If I recall correctly, you were the one locked up in Heaven’s jail for centuries, not me.”

Sam bristles.

“At least I have honor. Loyalty. Something you’ll never understand.”

Bela looks at him coolly.

“You keep telling yourself that. I’ll let you in on a little secret, Sam.” She steps up close to the fire, a poisonous glint in her eyes. “You’re no better than I am.”

Sam glares at her, his expression murderous.

 

Anna fidgets beside him. The angel blade feels like lead in her hand.

“Maybe she killed Gabriel,” she mutters.

Bela settles back coldly, apparently unfazed by her current situation.

“Your trickster friend?” She looks away disinterestedly. “I did not.”

“And you expect us to believe you—“

“I didn’t get the chance,” Bela says snidely. “For all I know he’s still at the church.”

She purses her lips.

“Wouldn’t get very far on that leg.”

 

“Dammit—Sam—“

Sam grabs Anna’s outstretched hand and they’re gone. Bela hunches in the corner, the fiery prison reflected in her eyes.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Castiel reels, leaning back.

 

He blinks up dazedly at the ceiling, his eyes burning in the harsh brightness above him. He can’t pick out any individual lights—it’s just an endless glare, illuminating every last corner of the room, nowhere to hide.

 

He sinks his head in his hands.

 

He doesn’t have any sense of time. He doesn’t know how long he’s been trapped here, starved for a touch, a hint, a voice, anything.

He thinks he’s starting to go out of his mind. He had screamed, shouted, prayed until he was hoarse—knocked over tables and tried to break down the walls. But every time, he’d turn around, and the room would instantly be whole again.

He’s starting to lose it.

 

 

A soft hand touches his cheek.

 

Castiel jerks back, eyes flying open.

 

Abaddon smiles, tracing a thumb along his jaw. Her clothes are soaked in blood.

 

Castiel lashes out—but he hits nothing but air.

 

He falls back against the leg of the table, his chest heaving. She’s nowhere to be seen.

He doesn’t move his eyes to heaven or hell, just stays—utterly motionless.

 

“What have you done, Cas?”

 

He whirls. Anna is behind him, her face white as a sheet. Castiel gasps.

“You let her kill me,” she whispers, advancing on him. “You let me die.”

Castiel shakes his head, backing away.

“No,” he chokes out. “No—”

 

“You were supposed to protect me, Cas,” Anna breathes. “That’s what Dad told you to do. That was your job. You _failed_.”

 

Castiel screws his eyes shut, clamping his hands over his ears.

“This isn’t real,” he mutters. “You’re not real.”

 

 

The room goes cold. He feels like he's been plunged into freezing water—and he starts to shiver, his skin prickling, breath coming out in icy puffs.

 

“You never will learn, will you, Castiel?”

 

 

 

He whips around. Naomi seizes his neck, her white eyes leering down at him.

“I have you again, all to myself,” she whispers, raising a scalpel. “How shall we pass the time?”

 

Castiel throws her off, losing his balance and falling to the ground. He scrambles back, looking around wildly—

But she's gone.

 

 

Castiel brings his hands to his temples, shaking.

What is she doing to him, what is happening, what—

 

 

He looks down at his hands, and jerks back in horror.

It’s like his skin is cracking, black spiderweb like marks running up his wrists and digging into his veins—

 

 

_Castiel_

 

 

His mind stabs with pain—a ringing so sharp that it drops him to his knees, his eyes hazing over red. 

The vision is clear, sharp as a knife—himself, standing over slaughtered corpses, the blade in his hand.

Abadddon’s blade.

 

His sister, Gabriel, Sam, _Dean_ —

 

Dead, their eyes blank and staring, Castiel covered in their blood, his pale fingers wrapped delicately around the twisted black, finally in its rightful place.

 

And he’s laughing.

 

 

 

Castiel doesn’t know—doesn't know if it's Abaddon inside him, or _himself_ , the person she's slowly turning him into—a twisted vision of what’s to come.

 

 

 

Either possibility is terrifying.

 

 

With a pain that feels like ripping himself in half—Castiel wrenches himself out of the vision, scrambling back against the wall. He huddles his arms around himself, rocking back and forth—cowering in the too-bright light of the endless green room.

 

x

 

 

 

“ _Gabe!_ "

“’Bout damn time—”

 

Gabriel struggles to push himself up.

“Was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

 

Then he catches sight of Anna, and his jaw drops.

“Something I missed?” Gabriel asks weakly.

 

They run to his side, Sam healing him with a touch.

“Short version—was resurrected, killed an angel, got another one back at the cabin,” Anna says as she supports him from the other side, helping him up. “Remind me to tell you the details later.”

She grabs his hand, ready to turn and go—but Gabriel stops her, pulling her back.

“Anna,” he says, his face pale. “She—Abaddon. She has Cas.”

“I know.

“You _know?"_

“I swear, we’ll explain everything—but we gotta _go_ —“

 

 

Sam grabs both of their hands, and they disappear in a rush of leaves and wind.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

 

Castiel stalks around the room, counting his steps. He thinks it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Weeks, months—he’s in eternal limbo in this sickening green room. There’s only the endless walls, gilded portraits—staring at him from every corner, unseeing—and mirrors, mirrors—reflecting his own terrified and pale face. The visions come and go, moments of sanity grasped in between horrible periods of nightmares, soaked in blood and fire and Abaddon’s cruel voice twisting into the back of his mind.

 

 

The table is back now, the cherry bowl sitting there, undisturbed. Castiel paces in front of it, dropping a shaking hand to his wrist, gripping at his mother’s rosary. He clings to it, muttering under his breath.

 

 _Please,_ he whispers, his voice hoarse. _Please._

 

He doesn’t know who he’s praying to. God, Sam...even—

He stops abruptly, taking in a shaking breath.

 

He turns his eyes up to the painting in front of him. Large and imposing, one of the archangels, white sword raised to strike—the demons of Hell falling to its sharp edge.

Castiel stares at it, his pulse quickening. He turns abruptly, staring at the table. The edges of an idea are forming in his mind, and he grips the edge of the table, thinking hard. It's a long shot, but he's got no other choice.

 

He moves quickly, lest someone should appear to stop him—and he grabs the bowl, upending the cherries and sending them scattering. He eyes the thin porcelain clutched in his hands, taking a deep breath.

He smashes it.

 

Pieces fly everywhere, spraying out across the table, the sound of them setting his teeth on edge. Castiel snatches up one of the larger shards, and slices it down his wrist, blood quickly welling up in the cut. He ignores the throbbing pain that twists through his arm as he starts to trace the blood spell on the table, trying to remember the complicated runes. Castiel’s not sure if it will even work—he doesn’t have the proper set up—all he can do is pray that it does.

 

He finishes the incantation and pushes himself back from the table, looking all around him.

 

“Come on, you bastard,” he mutters. “ _Come on_ —”

“Whoa there, Cassie.”

 

Castiel whirls. The demon is leaning against the wall, holding a martini glass.

“Patience is a virtue,” Balthazar says, winking.

 

Castiel stares at him, choking on his breath. Balthazar raises an eyebrow as he takes in Castiel’s appearance, his lip curling.

“A little unorthodox, I suppose, but effective,” he says, glancing at Castiel’s wrist. It’s steadily dripping blood.

When he’s met with only silence, the smile slides from Balthazar’s face.

“Now, uh…” He straightens, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m no expert, but I think you might want to put a bandage on that—”

“Leave it,” Castiel snarls.

 

Balthazar stops, his lips pursing slightly. He sets the glass down on the table, delicately avoiding the shattered remains of the bowl.

“Suppose you can just get your angel to fix it,” he says airily, glancing around. “Where is he? Thought you two were inseparable.”

 

Castiel goes white.

Balthazar’s laughter dies as he takes in Castiel’s reaction, and his expression quickly twists into one of concern.

“Cassie,” he says slowly. “What’s going on?”

 

Castiel grips the jagged piece of porcelain in his hand, feeling it cut into his palm.

“Did you know?” He hisses.

 

Balthazar pauses.

“What?”

“Did you know?” Castiel says again, nearly shouting. “About _me!_ About Abaddon?”

Balthazar pales slightly.

“Wh-what?”

He takes a small step back, eyes darting around the room.

“Castiel. Where are we?” He swallows. “What is this?”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Castiel growls, advancing on him. “Not now.”

Balthazar narrows his eyes, backing away.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing—”

“DID YOU KNOW?” Castiel yells.

“YES!” Balthazar roars, his eyes flaring black. “I _knew_ , all right?”

 

Castiel stares at him, struggling against his rage. Balthazar calms slightly.

“Yes,” he mutters again. “I knew you were her vessel.”

“And you didn’t think that might be pertinent information?” Castiel snarls. “Before you sent us running after her—”

“If you did know, you never would have gone after that blade,” Balthazar snaps. “You needed a weapon. I was trying to help—”

“Well, that backfired spectacularly,” Castiel growls. “Because she has it.”

Balthazar freezes.

“She has the blade,” Castiel mutters. “You’ve got to give me something else.”

“You _lost_ it?”

“Tell me right now, Balthazar.” Castiel lifts his pathetic excuse for a knife, pointing it at him. “Or I’ll force it out of you.”

Balthazar fumes, shaking his head.

“There is nothing else.”

 

Castiel stares at him for a moment, then tips his head back, letting out a short derisive laugh.

“Well. Excuse me if I don’t believe you.”

The demon narrows his eyes.

“What are you on about now?”

 

Castiel starts pacing slowly, feeling slightly dizzy from the blood loss. He starts off low, his anger pulsing in every word.

“Everything you’ve ever told me has been a lie,” he murmurs, circling around the demon. “My father may have tolerated it, but I realize now—”

He stops, staring him down.

“I should have killed you a long time ago.”

 

Balthazar shakes his head slowly.

“Castiel. Look.” He raises a hand. “You don’t know everything.”

 

“You’ve always been working from them, haven’t you?” Castiel whispers, horrified realization dawning. God, how could he have been so _stupid_? Of course, Castiel’s just been a tool, a part of some divine plan—he’s been nothing but a puppet, his entire _life_ —

“Even Raphael,” he mutters lowly, feeling sick to his stomach. “You told me about him, so that I’d try to stop them, you knew I’d take Anna’s place—”

_“No.”_

Balthazar is furious.

“That wasn’t the plan. Cassie, you have _no_ idea—”

“Then enlighten me,” Castiel growls.

 

They’re silent for a long minute.

Then Balthazar speaks.

 

“Raphael...he wanted Anna in the pit,” he starts slowly, fingers twisting together. “She’d be trapped below, and you—you’d be at Abaddon’s mercy on earth.”

Castiel doesn’t dare breathe. He knows the demon is lying.

“Without Anna, you’d have crumpled,” Balthazar mutters. “And Alastair, with no vessel—Abaddon would’ve crushed him like a bug.”

He looks up, stepping towards Castiel, shaking his head in frustration.

“But I didn’t _want_ that to happen. I told you, so you could stop it—I didn’t force you to be a complete idiot and jump in yourself—”

“Fuck you,” Castiel hisses.

“Then that angel of yours screwed it all up,” Balthazar snarls. “Both the vessels on earth, both the archangels—the apocalypse is _here_ , and it’s no one's fault but you goddamn Remingtons.”

He glares at Castiel, every syllable dripping with disdain.

“You’re the ones who broke the world. So don’t yell at _me_.”

 

“Then it was Naomi!”

Castiel can’t make sense of anything, he’s just yelling, his head pounding, clogged with hate and fear and—

“Maybe you didn’t pull the strings, but you were helping her,” he growls, stalking up to the demon. “She said she never should have listened to you—”

“No, that’s—”

Castiel shoves him.

Balthazar stumbles back, shock quickly turning to rage. Castiel is in his face in an instant, shoving him again.

“You ruined my life!” He yells. “You bastard—”

“ _Castiel!_ ” Balthazar thunders.“ _Listen to me!_ ”

 

He towers over him, the air behind him darkening and crackling with power.

Castiel falls silent, cowering. His mind clears for a brief moment, and he backs away, shaking.

 

Balthazar’s eyes gleam slick oil black, staring him down.

“It was just luck,” he hisses. “Pure dumb luck that I was there that night.”

Castiel stiffens. Balthazar continues.

“Naomi—she had finally crawled out of Hell, and the first thing she did was gun straight for you. Christ, you can’t have been more than six. She was going to _kill_ you, Castiel.”

 

Castiel backs away, the walls pressing in on him, every word making it harder for him to breathe.

“I told her, ‘wait’,” Balthazar says, softer now. “Wait until he’s older. You kill him know, his soul goes to Heaven, and then where will you be?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know why Naomi listened to me. But she did. And when your father found out...he said he would always owe me his life.” Balthazar takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect him the same way.”

 

Castiel can’t move.

“You’re lying,” he hushes out.

“No, Castiel,” Balthazar says.  “I’m really not.”

 

The darkness in the room fades, Balthazar’s eyes sliding back to their normal appearance.

“Choose to believe me or don’t,” he says shortly. “But I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

 

Castiel just stares at him, struggling to breathe. The shard of porcelain drops from his fingers, clattering away into some dark corner. His throat is squeezing in on itself, choking him, threatening to send him tumbling into unconsciousness.

 

Balthazar suddenly stiffens, turning his head.

“They’re coming,” he breathes.

 

He finds Castiel’s eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry.” He takes a step back. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Please,” Castiel begs.

Balthazar backs away.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice no more than a whisper. “Truly I am.”

 

Then he’s gone, and Castiel turns, inevitably, to see two more demons—twin snarls locked on their faces.

 

He doesn’t know how long they torture him, but Castiel’s grateful when his body finally succumbs to the pain and drags him under, falling into darkness.

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

Bela glances up when Sam teleports them back in, one delicate eyebrow lifting.

“You’re back.”

Gabriel growls, shoving past Anna.

“What the hell is she doing here—”

Anna quickly pulls him back, grabbing his elbow.

“Gabe. It’s alright.” She glares at the angel. “She’s going to tell us where Cas is.”

 

Bela stands slowly, brushing a bit of dust from her coat.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know.”

Anna scoffs.

“Yeah? Then why did you bother saving me?”

“Save the heroic crap.”

Anna narrows her eyes. Bela sniffs, crossing her arms.

“Lilith was going to kill me. I didn’t want to be dead. Simple as that.”

“You’re not in much of a better situation now, sister,” Gabriel mutters.

“And I have you to thank for that,” Bela says sharply. “None of this was supposed to happen. You’re the ones who derailed our guaranteed victory in this fight.”

Anna slips a hand to the angel blade in her pocket. She had been considering sparing the angel, but if she keeps this up…

 

But Sam is suddenly frowning, moving forward.

“What are you talking about?”

Bela throws him a dirty look, but continues.

“Why do you think Lilith was so pissed at Dean? Just for disobeying?” She gives a brief hollow laugh. “That was bad, yes—but he screwed up the whole plan. Castiel was _supposed_ to stay in Hell, right where Abaddon couldn't get to him. Alastair has you, his true vessel, and he destroys his enemy on the battlefield.”

The angel glares at all of them.

“You all brought this on yourselves. As far as we know, you just made the reverse happen. Abaddon with her vessel and Alastair flying blind.”

She meets Anna’s eyes.

“You've cursed us. You’ve ended the world.”

 

Anna swallows heavily. She can see Gabriel staring at her, from the corner of her eye, and she quickly clears her throat, straightening.

“No,” she says firmly. “We’re gonna stop this. Without any predetermined plan. We’re gonna stop this with the best thing we’ve got.”

“Which is what?” Gabriel asks dryly.

“Us.”

 

Anna turns.

“Screw God, and screw his apocalypse,” she says, fire burning in her eyes. “We’re taking the fight to them.”

 

“Then I’m not entirely useless.”

 

They turn. Bela steps closer to the fire, her voice cool.

“I can give you Alastair.”

 

"Come again?" Anna says weakly. 

“Suddenly not so sure about my survival in this apocalypse,” Bela mutters. She blinks, looking back to fix that fierce gaze on the three of them.

“A vessel is like a phone line—that’s how we planned to contact Alastair in the first place. He couldn’t be bothered by us unless we had you. When you were ready to say yes. You just need the right words.” She glances at the ring around her, her lips pursing.

“If you let me out, I’ll be happy to write down the spell. All I ask it that you let me go.” 

“We should just kill her,” Gabriel says.

“Gabriel,” Sam says quietly.

 

“Okay,” Anna whispers.

 

They all turn to look at her. Gabriel moves to her side, hissing at her.

“Anna—you’re not _serious_ —“

“We don’t have the blade anymore,” Anna snaps. “We only got one option now. Open the pit back up. And if we can shove Alastair in too, well.” She grimaces. “The more the merrier.”

 

She snatches up a glass from the table, throwing some water on the fire. It quickly dies out, fading into nothing, and Bela gingerly steps over the line of ash. She nods slowly.

“Thank you.”

Anna crosses her arms.

“Just write the damn spell.”

 

Bela sits down next to Sam, talking quickly, rattling off the details of the spell, writing down a list of Enochian words that Sam scrutinizes closely, his brow furrowed. Gabriel stands behind them the whole time, his fingers twitching around the handle of the angel blade.

 

When they finish, Bela stands, nodding curtly.

“That’s it. Simply invoke the words, and he will come.”

“Sam?” Anna asks swiftly.

Sam looks over the list, fingers tracing over the complicated symbols.

“It’ll work,” he finally admits. He glances up, making no effort to hide his glare. Bela meets his gaze, her tone frosty.

“Yes. Despite your doubts, I kept my word. So you can wipe that constipated expression off your face.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. Gabriel sneers at Bela.

“Why are you helping us, anyway?”

 

Bela turns, looking at him for a moment. Her face hardens.

“Because it was logical. I sided with Alastair against Abaddon because he was going to win. I then stayed loyal to Lilith because it was in my best interests.”

Sam makes a slight noise under his breath, and Bela turns, watching him shrewdly.

“Yes. I suppose you would look down upon me, Sam. You with your righteous high-minded agenda. Yet I helped you,” she states flatly, “because it was my best chance at survival.” She shakes her head. “Don’t bring morals into this.”

Anna takes the paper from Sam, rolling it up, tucking it into her jacket for safekeeping.

“Fine,” she says. “You can go.”

 

She turns away from the angel, pulling out the chair next to Gabriel. Anna pauses, noticing he hasn’t moved. She turns.

 

Bela is still standing there, her mouth opened slightly, as if she’s on the verge of saying something else. She hesitates, then speaks. 

“Dean had the chance to kill me, once,” she murmurs. “He didn’t.”

Anna glances up sharply. Bela turns, meeting her eyes.

 

“Tell him we’re even.”

 

Then she disappears.

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Castiel doesn’t know how long he lies there, choking back sobs in the too-bright room, empty and suffocating. The stark walls collapse around him, pressing down and smothering him.

He can’t breathe.

 

 

And after minutes, years, or maybe seconds, he opens his eyes.

His addled mind thinks it’s rational. He obsesses and fixates on it until he believes there’s no other way.

Lilith has his sister. Probably torturing her—putting her through the same hell, trying to force her into saying yes.

But Abaddon could save Anna. She had said it herself—his family wouldn’t be harmed. She has to bring Anna back. She has to make her safe.

 

He’s ready to bargain. Castiel’s going to offer himself up to save her. Anna’s life for his. For his consent. He sees that as a fair trade.

As long as Anna is safe.

Then he can just beg for all of this to be over.

 

 

Castiel stands quickly, not allowing himself any time to second-guess his decision. He upends the table, positioning it so the edge faces him.

He takes a deep shuddering breath. Then he throws himself down.

 

The pain is intense. He clings weakly to the wood, gasping.

He shakily straightens, then rams hard against the table again.

 

His side is broken and covered in bruises by the time he finally hears it—a sharp snap inside him—and then he collapses. Almost instantly, the air around him stirs, and he struggles to push himself up, ready to face her.

 

 

“Cas—“

 

 

He stumbles, grabbing at his arm—and he falls, dragging down Castiel with him. They crash to the floor, Dean’s heavy weight sinking on top of him. Castiel panics, shoving him off. He scrambles away, falling against the wall opposite, breathing heavily.

 

Dean doesn’t move from where Castiel’s pushed him. He just lies there, staring mutely up at the ceiling. He doesn’t try to get up.

His chest heaves, fingers scrabbling against the floor beneath him.

 

Castiel stares at him in horror, his heart pounding. For a brief second, he thought Dean was just another hallucination—but the way his hands fell on Castiel, his familiar rough touch—that isn’t anything but real.

 

Castiel tries to stand, but pain flares through his side and he clamps a hand over his broken ribs, hissing.

 _No_ —Dean couldn’t do this to him, not now—Castiel had gotten him out, made him safe—

He buries his face in his arm, biting at his sleeve. He doesn’t know if she’s watching, but if she is—shit—she could appear any moment and obliterate him—and Castiel can’t let that happen—he can’t—

 

Dean jerks up, unsteadily flopping over to where Castiel is sitting.

“Cas, baby—“

He nearly falls on top of him, clumsy hands brushing at his neck. Castiel tries to push him away.

“Dean, no—“

“Please, Cas—I, I just—“

Dean sinks against him, voice barely audible.

And despite his terror, Castiel’s heart breaks.

“Dean—are you—“

He grabs Dean’s arms, just barely stopping him from falling again.

“Are you drunk?” He whispers.

Dean huffs, trying to fall against him, but Castiel doesn’t release his grip.

“Jeez, Cas—”

Dean vaguely struggles against his hands, trying to twist closer.

“ _Fuck_.”

Dean’s cheek sinks against his shoulder and Castiel closes his eyes, willing everything to stop.

“I can’t fucking lie to you— _shit._ ”

Dean whimpers, his hands struggling against Castiel’s hold, twisting into his shirt. He jostles Castiel’s damaged side and Castiel inhales sharply, biting down on his tongue.

“It’s the only time it makes it bearable—“

Dean gulps, sucking in hard breaths.

“It _sucks_ , baby—I fucking miss you,” he spills, his breath hot against Castiel’s skin.

Castiel shudders. No, no, _no_ , he couldn’t do this to him, not now—fuck, not after everything—

“Please, Dean, go—go, _please_ —“ he gasps out, trying to escape—

But Dean’s hands are on his arms, his wrists, roughly dragging Castiel back in.

 

He tries to kiss him, lips gracelessly finding his jaw, his cheek.

“Cas,” he gasps against his throat. “I want you so bad, I love you so much—“

Dean struggles up, touching Castiel’s lips with clumsy fingers.

“You don’t know how much I love you—“

“No, dammit—“

Castiel shoves him off.

“You’re drunk,” he says firmly. “Get out.”

Dean crawls up close, pinning him back against the wall.

“Would you fuck me if I was sober?” He whispers.

 

Castiel shivers, closing his eyes.

“No.”

 

Dean’s hands seize his collar, digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“Why not?”

 

His voice is agony.

 

Castiel shakes his head.

“You know why,” he shudders out, hating himself. There’s only silence from the angel in front of him, and Castiel closes his eyes, choking back a harsh cry.

“Dean.” He clenches his fists. “Leave. Please—you can’t be here.”

Dean ignores him and only inches closer, shifting until Castiel has nowhere to go.

“Cas,” he murmurs.

 

He reaches out, brushing the hair away from Castiel’s eyes.

 

“Love you, Cas,” he mumbles softly. “Love you so much.”

Dean’s breath hitches, fingers dragging slowly down Castiel’s jaw.

“I’ve always loved you,” he whispers. “From the very first moment I saw you.”

“Don’t—“

Castiel grabs his wrists, shaking his head.

“Just—don’t—“

But he unconsciously clings to him, fighting back tears.

“I just knew,” Dean mumbles. “I always knew.”

He plants his hands on Castiel’s cheeks, the smell of alcohol heavy and cloying in between them.

 

“The stars are in your eyes,” he breathes, not blinking. “The night is in your hair.”

 

Dean twists closer to him, dragging his hands through the dark strands. Castiel shivers as Dean noses against his cheek.

“The moon is in your skin,” he murmurs, pressing chaste kisses down the line of Castiel’s neck. Castiel shudders.

“Jesus, Dean— _stop_.”

 

Dean wobbles slightly as Castiel pushes him off. He falls back heavily, blinking hard.

 

“Cas.”

 

Castiel can’t breathe.

“Let me fix it.”

Dean grabs his wrist, panting.

“P-please. Tell me how to fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” Castiel spits. “Get out.”

Dean clings to him still, not meeting his eyes. He’s staring resolutely at his hand, hiccupping, as if holding on to him would put everything right.

“C-Cas. Don’t—don’t—”

“No, _no_ —you don’t—“

Castiel twists his hand out of his grip, hating himself.

“Don’t make this any harder,” he snaps.

He just needs him to _go._

Then—suddenly—Dean is in his face.

 

“What is that? What does that fucking _mean_?” He yells, shoving him.

Castiel falls to the floor, heart pounding. Holy shit—

He tries to scramble away from him, but Dean seizes his wrists and yanks him forward, shouting at him.

“This isn’t hard for you,” Dean yells. “You don’t fucking give a _shit_ about me, you made that perfectly clear—“

Castiel thrashes against his grip.

“Let go of me—“

“ _No_ , Cas—you fucking owe me, I deserve to know, I deserve to—“

Castiel shoves him off, his whole body shaking.

“Don’t, you bastard—“ He screams, his face red. Fuck, _fuck_ —they could never fix it now—

“Why are you lying to me?” Dean yells. “Don’t lie to me, _stop it_ , stop this—“

_“Shut up!“_

 

 

Castiel turns on him, hissing.

“You lied.”

Dean freezes, crouched against the wall. Castiel snarls.

“Lied about Anna, about Alastair, lied from the start—you fucking lied about everything—I will _never_ trust you.”

He wrenches himself up, fighting against the pain in his side.

“You explained it perfectly that night,” he breathes. “You’ll always choose your precious angels over us—no wonder you wanted to keep me away from them, you fucking selfish piece of shit—“

Dean slips.

“You—“

Castiel hisses.

“I did it—I went to them, you fucker—and they gave me the way to save her, so I don’t need you anymore, do I—“

Dean fumbles vaguely in his direction, face twisted.

“No—“

“Because that’s the only reason I kept you around, isn’t it?” Castiel snarls. “Because I thought you could help, but you couldn’t—you’re _useless_ , completely fucking useless—“

It’s the same argument that left Castiel feeling like his lungs were ripped out, and he knows it does the same to Dean—because Dean’s staring at him, his chest heaving with sobs, his face utterly broken, but Castiel can’t stop.

“Cas,” Dean chokes out. “Don’t—“

He has to make Dean hate him. He has to make sure he turns away and never looks back. Castiel has to save him.

 

“What if I call Alastair?” He whispers.

 

Dean freezes, staring at him openmouthed.

“You have a history, don’t you?” Castiel sneers, creeping forward. “I could summon him here right now.”

It’s something Dean had confessed to Castiel, at his darkest point, something he had completely trusted him with—and now Castiel tries not to cry as he spits out the words that he knows will utterly break him.

“He’d come right away wouldn’t he, come for his sister’s precious vessel—”

Dean’s face is a storm of rage and hurt, his eyes almost black.

“Let him have his way with you—“

Dean seizes his forearm and Castiel jerks against his grip, but it only pulls him closer. He can see every fleck and break in those eyes.

“Let him string you up and torture you, until you wish you were dead,” Castiel yells.

 

“Dead like your fucking sorry excuse for a father!”

 

 

 

The pain doesn’t hit him until he’s lying flat on his back, then it rushes over him in a wave, almost overwhelming him. Castiel gasps, his lip dripping blood.

Dean towers over him, staring in furious horror, his fist still curled from the punch. Thank god he’s drunk, because if Dean was at full strength, Castiel doesn’t think he’d still be conscious.

“Fuck you,” Dean spits, reeling. “You fucking bastard— _fuck—_ ”

He disappears in a swirl of dust.

 

 

Castiel sits up shakily. He doesn’t try to wipe the blood from his face, from his side. He doesn’t care anymore.

He stares numbly at the floor.

Then he screams.

He yells and shouts, his voice going hoarse until the air is gone from his lungs. He falls back against the floor, unable to fight anymore.

 

Then there’s a voice, sharp and cold.

 

 

 

“My, my.”

Soft footsteps, moving closer.

 

“What have you been getting up to in this room?”

 


	22. Chapter 22

  


She watches, frozen.

 

Castiel emerges from the church, his face blank, a black bag in his hands. He comes to a jolting halt, and just stands there, dark, drawn in, defeated. Abaddon shimmers into sight before him, smiling. She says something that doesn't carry across the hushed forest floor—then she clamps her hand to Castiel’s shoulder, and they disappear.

  
  


Charlie curses under her breath.

“Shit.”

 

 

x

 

 

 

“Okay, we got the instructions for Dial-an-Angel.” Gabriel dumps a pile of books on the table in front of them. “What now?”

 

Anna seizes the nearest one, black, wrapped in leather, and flips it open, scanning the pages.

“We get Cas.”

Sam glances up, his tone uneasy.

“Anna…”

She stops, squinting at him. He sighs.

“Even if we do manage to find him…you should be prepared. We don't know what we'll find.”

Anna lowers the book slowly.

“Excuse me?”

Sam drags a hand through his hair, speaking fast.

“You said he came back different, right?” He paces in front of the table, the dusty light above them flickering a little. “It’s only going to get worse. Especially with Abaddon that close—”

“Why?”

Sam comes to a stop, his face draped in shadow.

“She’s a direct connection to Hell,” he says lowly. “Having Cas all to herself, all the things she could make him see, make him remember...who knows what that will awaken in your brother.”

Gabriel swallows audibly, sinking into his chair.

“Well,” he says weakly. “Ain't that a vote of confidence.”

 

Anna has gone pale.

“I don’t care,” she mutters, taking up the book again. “We’re not doing this without him. I-I don’t know how we’ll find him, but—”

“Wait—why can’t you just do a spell?” Gabriel asks. Anna shakes her head.

“His warding works even against me. I was able to find the blade and Dean when it was just his vessel, but Cas is hidden.”

She finally finds the proper page, the one Raphael had shown her all those months ago, sliding it across the table with false promises and an oily smile.

“There,” she says, tossing it down in front of them. “Same one we used to open it up the first time.”

“What?” Gabriel sputters.

Sam frowns, tracing the lines with his finger, eyes quickly scanning the text.

“Anna,” he hushes out, looking up. “Are you sure—”

“Will it work?” She asks sharply. After a moment, Sam nods.

“It might,” he whispers. “By God, it might.”

 

Gabriel claps his hands.

_“Hey.”_

They both look up. Gabriel glares at them.

“Someone want to fill me in, please?”

 

Anna explains quickly, pulling her gun and popping out the cylinder, eyeing the bullets inside.

“The only way to defeat Abaddon for good is to lock her back up,” she says. “If we somehow get our hands on that blade again, we can kill one, maybe—if we get our one in a million chance. No way we can do two.”

“We trick her to the spot,” Sam says quickly, his eyes lighting up. “And force her into the pit. Maybe Alastair too—hell, the more the merrier.”

“How?”

They fall silent. Anna rolls one of the bullets in between her fingers, thinking hard.

 

“I don't know,” she says finally. “But we gotta be prepared to fight back.”

 

 

 

x

 

 

They land softly, and Anna has her gun up immediately. She doesn’t know if the bullets she hastily prepared will even work—but it’s better than nothing. They check over the whole place, but it’s deserted. No archangels yet.

Anna looks at the dilapidated building around them, trying not to think about that dark night, when she thought she had lost Cas for good. It's mostly still standing, a couple sections crumbling into ruin. It might've been a grand field, a great place for a showdown back when God was planning the whole business—but now it's nothing but an empty building where they used to keep spare car parts.

And this is the place where the world ends.

  


 

 

Anna heads back over to Sam, who’s already kneeling, tracing out the sigils on the floor. Gabriel comes back from his sweep outside, tucking his gun into his belt.

 

“So. You just bleed on this piece of pavement and it'll suck them back in?”

“No,” Sam says, marking out the Enochian symbols, quick and practiced. “We’ll have to make sure we shove them in.”

“We’re trapping ourselves in a Catch 22,” Anna says tersely. “Something’s gotta go in, or we’ll watch the universe break apart.”

“Whoa, whoa— _what?”_

“Hell and Earth aren't meant to bleed into each other, to exist in the same plane,” Sam says, straightening and wiping his hands on his jacket. “There's a reason we have reapers. Cas stopped it before, but the grating at the rift will destroy reality, if we don't close it in time.”

Gabriel gapes at them for a moment, then closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well. This sounds like a fabulously suicidal idea,” he mutters.

 

“Just like always,” Anna says flatly. Gabe looks up.

“And if we can’t get them to jump in?”

“Then Abaddon destroys the world anyway, right?” Anna grimaces. “At this point it’s choose your way out.”

“Don’t say that.” Sam stands, his eyes burning. “We can do this.”

 

Gabriel glances back at the sigils, chewing his lip.

“So we're popping the devil back in the box.”

 

Anna shrugs.

“Shouldn't be too hard.”

  
  


But the fact still remains they have no idea where Abaddon or Cas is.

 

 

 

Sam paces back and forth, Anna biting at her nails as she watches him. 

“We could summon Alastair. Maybe she'd show up if he does.”

“That's not a guarantee, though. What about Dean?”

“Dean...he's in the wind. He's not answering, and if Cas said something to him…”

“So we're sitting with our thumbs up our asses,” Gabriel mutters. “Bottom of the ninth and we got nobody to play against.”

 

Anna sits heavily on a couple of stacked crates, leaning back against the steel wall.

“Well, if you gave us some suggestions instead of snarky comments, that would be a huge help.”

Gabriel crosses his arms, glaring at her. He opens his mouth to retort, when—

 

 

A huge clatter sounds behind them, crates crashing to the floor around the figure suddenly standing there, staggering from the impact.

 

 

 

Anna bolts up.

_“Balthazar?“_

“You’re damn near impossible to find, you know that?”

 

 

Balthazar presses a hand against the wall, breathing heavily. His clothes are torn, and there’s blood on his temple.

“Had to reunite with some very unsavory characters until one could tell me where you were,” he says, his knees buckling slightly.

Anna rushes to support him, waving off Sam.

“It’s okay, he’s a friend—“

Sam doesn’t seem to agree, stepping forward, a snarl on his face, when Balthazar speaks.

“Anna. I know where Castiel is.”

 

They all freeze.

She stares at him.

 

 

“What?”

 

 

x

 

 

 

Dean picks up a rock and tosses it over the edge of the cliff.

It's his favorite waterfall, nestled amongst the trees of Argentina, and so far it hasn’t been discovered, polluted or poisoned by human hands. Dean leans forward a little, staring down at where the rock disappeared, and he wonders what it would be like to follow it. To be pulled under the rushing water until he couldn’t feel anything anymore. But of course…that would be useless. Technically he didn’t need to breathe. Water couldn’t hurt him.

Dean groans, sinking his head in his hands. Angel or not, apparently he's still capable of having a hangover. He knows he could mojo away the pain, but he doesn't. He deserves this.

 

 

His mind drifts, unwilling, back to Castiel. Back to everything he had done, back to Sam, and how Dean let him down, back to Charlie—who's dead because of him—

He stops himself, breathing heavily. He closes his eyes and lets the sunlight flood through him. Dean will stay here. He will calmly wait out the end of the world. For once, it will not be his fault. He will accept his fate, and finally pass into oblivion.

 

 

He wraps his arms around his legs, closing his eyes. There’s only the roar of the waterfall, the crisp sound of insects, humming in the sun-drenched air, and—

A flutter of wings. Dean lifts his head, glancing over his shoulder—

But he’s barely able to turn around before there’s a hand, smacking him upside the head.

 _“Ow_ —what the—“

He whirls, but his mysterious assailant has disappeared.

 

Dean glances around, his eyes narrowed, rubbing the back of his head. There’s only the jungle around him, not another soul in sight.

_Whack._

“DUDE—“

Dean whips around, summoning his power, ready to smite whatever dick had dropped in on him—

And freezes. He stares at her, absolutely in shock.

 

 

“Seriously? _Seriously?_ This is where you’ve been the whole time?”

She materializes completely, continuing to curse in furious Enochian.

“I’ve been looking for you for days, and _this_ is where you are—” She jabs a finger in his chest. “No. No way. You do not get to have some pity party on the other side of the world while everything is going to hell and we need you.”

Dean can’t move.

“You…you’re…”

She raises her hand again, and he grabs her wrist, his arm shaking.

“You’re alive,” he breathes.

 

Charlie pauses, her her anger melting slightly.

“I’m an archangel,” she says, a little sheepish. “You think I couldn’t fake my own death?”

 

 

Dean stares at her, dropping her hand. A rush of emotion bubbles up inside him, clashing with his thoughts, turning everything into a confused, jumbled mess. He just shakes his head, unable to form the words.

“But you—Abaddon, she—”

“I know. I’m sorry." Charlie drops her eyes, guilt drawing her shoulders in. "But I had to distract Abaddon. Anything to give you some time. But Dean, listen—”

“I thought you were dead,” Dean bites out. His shock and relief is turning quickly into hurt, anger tainting his happiness at seeing her again.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie whispers again. “But I needed you safe. I was the only one who could stall her. She would’ve destroyed you.”

“Right—you were the only one,” Dean snarls. _“Sariel.”_

He spits the name like a curse. Charlie flinches, but she doesn’t deny it.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” she murmurs. “I couldn’t.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it," he snaps.

Charlie steps up closer, reaching out a hand.

“I _am_ , and I promise—I’ll explain everything later, but there’s something—”

“No,” Dean growls. “You explain now.”

“Dean—”

Dean seizes her shoulders, stopping her.

“Charlie, you tell me what the hell happened back at that house, or I swear—I’ll disappear right now, and you’ll never see me again.”

 

Charlie’s eyes gleam briefly, and Dean remembers who he’s talking to—one of the oldest angels, bested only in power by perhaps God, and the two archangels they’re trying to kill. He lets go.

 

 

“I was stalling them for months,” Charlie starts, her voice low. “Abaddon and Alastair—warding, sigils, trying to block them at every turn, to keep them away from you. But when she finally caught up, I did the only thing I could think of. To protect you.”

 

Dean processes this, turning it over in his mind.

“You said you were sneaking into Heaven,” he says shortly.

“And you believed me?” Charlie smiles a little. “Dean, I thought we knew each other better than that.”

“I don’t think I know you at all,” Dean snaps. “Sariel. Charlie.”

He meets her soft green eyes, clenching his fists.

“Who are you?” 

 

Charlie folds her arms around herself, eyes dropping to the lush grass beneath their feet. Dean is torn.

“Why did you leave?” He hushes out.

 

Charlie is quiet. Then, she begins to explain.

“I just—I couldn’t handle it,” she whispers. “I love them. I do. But watching Alastair and Abaddon turn on each other? I couldn’t bear it.”

She turns her face up, her dark red hair catching the pale sunlight. Dean remembers her various faces over the years—an old school teacher, briefly a small child, then a tall dark warrior—and her true face, the one Dean had known, before she disappeared the first time.

“My problem with authority, I guess,” she says. “But I didn’t leave Heaven. Not completely. I figured out how to hide my power, and I hid myself in the garrison, so I could still be with you, and Sam—”

She stops to take a breath, exhaling it shakily.

“And I couldn’t tell you,” she whispers. “If they found me out, they would’ve just sent me back upstairs to pick a side. And I couldn’t.”

“But you still left,” Dean says bitterly.

Charlie shifts, twisting her hands together.

“When the war started, I decided it was time I disappeared for good.”

She looks up.

“It was weak and selfish,” she says honestly. “And I’m sorry.”

 

Dean clenches his fists, turning away slightly. He can’t make himself let this go, because she left him. Just like everyone else. Charlie left him, Father left him, Sam left, Cas left—

 

“Surprised you’re not running now,” Dean mutters. “Now that the war’s happening again.”

“No.”

Charlie's voice hardens.

“I’ve been sitting on the sidelines for too long. It’s time to fight.”

 

Dean snorts.

“Well. Glad you finally grew a backbone.”

“And I see you’ve lost yours,” she fires back. “What the hell, man?”

Charlie gestures at him.

“You’ve never been one to roll over and accept your fate. The angel I knew would never sit something like this out. You _always_ keep fighting.”

“Yeah, well.”

Dean shrugs, muttering under his breath.

“I guess neither of us are who we thought they were.”

 

Dean turns on his heel, striding away. The roar of the waterfall is echoing in his ears, making it hard for him to think. He wants to hate Charlie, he wants this to stop—his anger and helplessness and frustration and everything threatening to overwhelm him. He just needs to get away, he just needs—

 

 

“Is this because of Cas?”

 

 

Dean freezes. He fights against the flare of pain that had seared through him at the sound of his name, instead focusing on his anger. He hardens.

“Go away, Charlie.”

He can feel her staring at him, but he refuses to look at her, his throat thick.

“Dean, listen—whatever he told you, it’s not what you think—”

“No, he made it pretty damn clear.”

“Dammit, Dean—”

Charlie appears in his path, right in front of him, and Dean jerks back, glaring at her.

“You pigheaded fool,” she says, her tone sharp. “This is not the time for you to be stubborn, the world is _ending_ —”

“Let it,” Dean snaps.

 

Charlie goes still.

“What?” She seethes, her voice dropping to dangerous tones.

Dean clenches his hands, so hard they start to hurt.

“Let it end!” He yells. “I don’t care, I don’t _care_ anymore—”

He brings his hands to his head, choking out the words.

“It’s-it's better for everyone if...if I just stay here. No one needs me.”

“No one needs you? 

Charlie seizes his shoulder, whipping him around.

"We all do, I do—“ She cuts off, a muscle in her jaw clenching. “You think Sam doesn’t need you? Or Anna? And Cas most of all—“

“No, he doesn’t!” Dean explodes.

 

Charlie stares at him, shocked into silence.

Dean jerks himself away from her, nearly slipping on the wet grass.

“I don’t care about him,” he mutters, his eyes burning.

“Dean, wait—”

Dean shakes his head, unable to speak. He isn’t going to try and convince her that it’s not all sunshine and roses, that him and Cas are all fucked to hell—

“I don’t care,” he says again. “Cas doesn’t care about me, so I don’t care about him, if he fucking lives or dies—“

“Dean, listen to me, _please_ ,” Charlie begs.

Dean screws his eyes shut.

“Sorry, Charlie.”’

He takes a deep breath, and gets ready to disappear. He’s let this go on too long already.

 

 

 

“Abaddon took him.”

 

 

 

Dean freezes.

He whips around, staring at her.

“What?” He hushes out.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Charlie says urgently. “I hurt Abaddon pretty bad, and I thought it would’ve stopped her for longer, but she recovered faster than I did—”

She stops to take a breath, biting her lip.

“But she found the cabin.”

 

Dean is numb. In shock. He hears Charlie’s words, but they seem to float outside of him, like ghosts. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“Abaddon was standing outside,” Charlie is saying, shaking her head. “And Cas came out, she must have forced him to do something, I don’t know—”

She grips his arm, her touch warm and solid.

“I don’t know what he said to you,” Charlie whispers. “But I know he didn’t mean it, none of it.”

Dean doesn’t move. He doesn’t try to yank away from her again. He stares at the water pouring over the cliff in front of him, and Dean feels himself falling, his terror growing every second.

He chokes.

“Cas,” he breathes. _“Cas—“_

 

He nearly falls, but Charlie supports him, and they sink to the ground, Dean clinging to her.

Cas’s voice echoes in and around his head.

_“He’d come right away wouldn’t he, come for his sister’s precious vessel—”_

No, no, god, _no_ —Abaddon must’ve had him, trapped in that room, and Cas had shouted, yelled at him so Dean would leave, to save his life…

Dean can’t string words together, he can only mumble incoherently into Charlie’s shirt.

 

“Why… _Cas_ —he—no—“

Charlie curves a hand around his cheek, smiling sadly at him.

“People do all sorts of crappy things in the name of love. You two are so self-sacrificing, you put every life ahead of your own.” She shakes her head. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re both still alive.”

Dean is trembling.

“That goddamn idiot—“ He laughs, almost hysterically. “Stubborn, foolish bastard—“

 

His head seems to clear in a rush, and he scrambles up, eyes wild.

“Charlie—we have to go, we have to save him—“

She grabs his hand.

“Dean.”

“No, he’s in trouble, we have to—“

“Dean, stop.”

 

Charlie grabs him, steady hands on his shoulders.

“Seriously. Don’t make me hit you again.”

Dean calms slightly, closing his eyes. Charlie exhales.

 

“We have to have a plan,” she says softly. “Don’t go running off and get yourself killed.”

 

His eyes snap open. He thinks very quickly, his brain sparking with an idea.

 

 

“Charlie.”

 

He turns to her, grabbing her hand.

“I know what to do.”

 

She blinks.

“Wait—what—”

“You trust me, don’t you?” Dean whispers. Charlie hesitates, but when she sees the fire in his eyes, she nods.

 

 

“Always."

 

 

  
  
  
 

 

x

 

 

 

“You’re completely alone in the world, Castiel.”

 

Castiel sinks to his knees. Abaddon’s hand rests gently on his arm, the only thing keeping him from collapsing. There’s only a mess of green, green haze, green walls, green eyes.

“No one cares about you. You have nothing,” she says softly, running sharp nails down his cheek. He shudders back a cry.

“So what have you got to lose?” She murmurs.

Castiel opens his mouth, but his voice dies in his throat.

Green. So green.

 

The hand holding him abruptly disappears. He falls forward, barely managing to get his hands underneath him before he drops to the ground. The floor beneath him shimmers briefly, then is replaced with dirt.

“Do you recognize this place?”

Castiel pushes himself up on trembling arms, settling back onto his heels. He peers at the darkness around him. Some dim memory of himself, some echo of who he used to be screams from a dark corner of his mind.

Then Abaddon lays a hand on his head, and it’s smothered again.

“No,” he stutters out.

“Hmm.”

She glances up, taking in the musty air around them.

“Of course you wouldn’t. They all sort of blend together after a while, don’t they?”

She turns to Castiel.

“This is where you exorcised your first demon.”

 

Castiel’s drugged heavy eyelids flare again, the light hurting his eyes—and he remembers.

“How old were you? Eight? Nine?”

_Nine, almost ten really, hands shaking with exhaustion and pride, taking in the beaming smile of—_

“Your father was so proud.”

Abaddon kneels down in front of him, one hand caressing his cheek. Her face seems so kind.

“Do you remember how scared you were? How frightened?”

Castiel whimpers. She smiles sadly.

“In my world, there will be more fear. No more pain. No more demons.”

Her hand drops, and the vision fades, the green room sliding back around them.

 

She gently tips up his chin. Castiel can’t breathe.

“I’m not trying to trick you, Castiel,” Abaddon says softly. “I’m only trying to make you understand.”

“Anna…” He chokes out. Abaddon nods.

“I will save her. She will be safe.”

Her voice is like music, soft and sweet, sinking into him and washing away his pain.

“You don’t have to resist anymore,” she whispers.

 

 

“Okay.”

 

Abaddon pauses.

“What?” She says, her voice a dark whisper.

“I’ll do it,” Castiel says, his voice breaking.

He opens his eyes to meet hers. Abaddon doesn’t move. Then she straightens, her shoulders settling into a cold pride.

 

 

Castiel pushes himself up, using the ground beneath him to stand on shaking legs.

He doesn’t want to die cowering in the dirt.

 

 

“Say it,” Abaddon orders. “Now.”

 

Castiel opens his mouth. It’s on the tip of his tongue.

 _Yes,_ his mind screams.

His voice doesn’t listen.

Abaddon narrows her eyes, taking a step forward.

“Say it.”

They’re frozen, staring at each other, and Castiel struggles to make his mouth work.

It would be so easy, so easy, and then it would all end.

Castiel’s throat is dry.

 

 

 

Then, wings.

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you so so so much for being so patient. The big showdown happens in this chapter, so it was extremely difficult to write, (plus holidays and family time and work and not getting a time to sit down and edit), so seriously, thank you so much! 
> 
> That being said: If you are affected by MCD, I would strongly suggest you don't read on until the fic is completed. All tags still apply.  
> (If you have a question about that, feel free to shoot me a message on tumblr, I'm just trying not to spoil anything)
> 
> Alright. Here we go.

 

 

 

There’s a flash behind her and Abaddon whirls, snarling.

 

 

“Get your hands off my brother,” Anna growls.

 

 

 

 

 

She shoots her, directly in the heart. Abaddon screams in fury, her body crackling and burning around the wound.

And then she’s gone, the echo of her shouts ringing around them.

 

 

Anna slowly lowers her gun.

“Damn,” she says. “That felt good.”

 

 

Sam is instantly at Castiel’s side, pressing a palm to his forehead. His grace fills Castiel with light, and it’s like Castiel’s seeing the world again—the oppressing fog of Abaddon finally washing away. Castiel stumbles, and Anna bolts for him, grabbing his arm.

“Hey, _hey_ —you alright?”

Castiel groans, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“Define alright,” he mutters.

 

Anna lets out a nervous burst of a laugh, tugging at his collar.

“There he is.”

 

 

Castiel tries to stand, but his legs still feel weak underneath him. Anna slings his arm over her shoulders, gingerly helping him up. Castiel shakes his head.

“Anna,” he chokes out. “I thought, you—Alastair—“

Castiel’s hand finds Anna’s wrist, her pulse beating frantically underneath the skin, warm, alive— _alive_.

She shakes her head, one hand finding his face.

“Not yet. They didn’t get me yet.”

 

Sam is tense beside them, his silver blade clutched tightly in his hand.

“She’ll be back soon,” he says tersely. “Anna. Hurry.”

 

Anna nods hastily, reluctantly releasing Castiel. He watches wordlessly as she digs in her pocket, popping open the cylinder on her revolver.

“Abaddon,” he asks. “How—“

Anna holds up the gun.

“Bullet full of holy oil.” She shoves another round in, grimacing. “One shot only, unfortunately. She’s gonna put herself back together soon, and when she does, she’s gonna be pissed—“

 

She gets her gun loaded up and pulls Castiel’s from her pocket, tossing it to him.

“Here—“

Castiel catches it, fingers wrapping around the familiar engraved grip. He automatically releases the safety, his mind buzzing with questions.

“Then what do we do?” Their guns won’t stop an archangel, Sam’s blade won’t either—there’s no other option, except to—

 

 

Castiel goes still. He wheels, meeting Anna’s eyes.

“Red,” he whispers hoarsely. “No.”

 

“Look, I know it’s shitty,” she says. “But everything’s set up. All we need is one more spell. And I—I know I’m not a good choice, but I’m all we got—“

Anna tightens her jaw, looking down.

“If there was any other way…but there isn’t. There’s just me.”

 

Castiel opens his mouth, an argument on the tip of his tongue.

 

 

But as he looks at his sister, he stops, something in him falling away. Every time Castiel tries to stop her, prevent her from doing something because of his fool-headed need to protect her—it always comes back to bite them in the ass.

It’s time Castiel started trusting her.

 

 

 

So he takes a deep breath, and says something he’d never thought he would.

 

“Okay.”

 

 

 

Anna looks up, hardly daring to believe it.

“Truth is, I rather wouldn’t,” Castiel says slowly. “But you’re not a kid anymore, Anna.”

He looks down, tightening the grip on his gun.

“If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

 

Anna grabs his wrist.

 

“Never again,” she breathes. “After this, if we make it out—“

She shakes her head.

“I swear to you, Cas,” she says. “Never again.”

 

 

“Anna. Castiel,” Sam says sharply.

 

 

He backs up toward them, raising his blade.

“I think we might have to cut this reunion a bit short.”

 

As if on cue, the floor heaves with a great jolt, and they all stumble—the green around them starting to glow and shake with alarming force.

Sam is at their side in an instant, fighting to yell above the noise.

“You two, stick close to me—“

He cuts off abruptly, his whole frame going rigid. Castiel draws in a sharp breath.

 

 

Abaddon cracks her neck slowly, before turning to glare at the three of them.

“You’re going to regret that little stunt,” she hisses.

 

 

 

 

 

She raises a hand, and Castiel quickly shoves Anna behind him—but she digs her fingers into his arm, and Sam is darting forward—

 

 

 

Flash. Suddenly they’re falling back, a field, stumbling over the grass.

Castiel shakes his head, the uncomfortable dizziness of teleportation making it hard for him to think. He puts out a hand on Anna’s shoulder to steady himself, and he can hear her asking him something, Sam’s frantic question—

 

Then comes Abaddon’s voice, shattering the dark night.

 

 

“You think you can outrun me?”

 

 

Sam seizes Castiel and they disappear, just as something is blasted away, burnt to a cinder at their heels.

 

Flash. An empty street. Sam’s hand is like a vice on his arm, Anna clinging to Castiel’s other hand, they’re just running, blindly forward, trying to get away—

Flash. The top of a building. Flash, a dark train, then the side of a mountain—

 

Flash—a twisted pile of metal—

 

 

Castiel stops dead, a sudden ice freezing him in his tracks.

Not here. Anywhere but here.

 

 

 

Sam is screaming at them, screaming for them to follow—and Anna yanks Castiel up, stumbling against each other as they run, careening around the corner. They barely make it, the world exploding behind them.

 

“You think you can trick _me_?” comes the furious scream. “I’ll chase you all over the damn globe if I have to—“

Her voice rings around the metal walls, and Castiel chokes, bringing his hands to his head. His throat is clogged, his heart struggling to beat—everything rushing over him in a hateful dark wave—

 

_The building coming down_

 

Castiel gasps, his legs giving out. Anna barely stops him from falling in time.

 

_Dragged down, into smoke, into hate, into fire—_

Anna screams at him, but he’s frozen.

Castiel just stares blankly as she walks up to them, her steps slow and calculating.

Sam’s face is white with terror. Anna tugs in vain at his arm, but Castiel can’t move.

 

He doesn’t know what poor religious woman her vessel must have been, but Abaddon is a tower of rage as she stalks towards them, flaming red hair and her eyes burning, the stitches in her neck seeming all the more gory away from the dizzyingly beautiful green room.

 

 

 

Abaddon comes to a stop in front of them, slowly glancing around. She takes in the burnt out shell behind her, then looks back at the three of them, her lip curling.

“So.”

She sneers.

“You think you can throw me back into the Pit?”

 

Beside Castiel, Anna’s hand twitches.

 

 

Abaddon’s red lips twist into a smirk, those eyes snapping back to his face.

“You remember this place, don’t you, Castiel?”

 

 

Castiel can’t move. He feels trapped, locked in by her hypnotic gaze.

Abaddon smiles down at him, simmering with dark fury.

“I’m not one for poetry, but if you really want to die in the same place twice…”

 

 

Sam and Anna’s hands are cold on Castiel’s back, underneath his elbows, finally getting him to his feet. But his legs are heavier than lead. There’s a small voice in his head, some small speck of reason screaming at him to _go_ , to get away—

Abaddon slowly shakes her head, cool and calculated.

“You know you can’t run, right?”

Her eyes are wide and dark, and Castiel is tipping inside, falling down.

 

“Come, Castiel,” she coos.

 

 

Abaddon curls her fingers, and inexplicably, Castiel feels himself step forward.

 

 

 

There are voices, other people beside him, yelling something that might be his name, but Castiel can’t stop himself. All he knows is that Abaddon is calling, and he must go to her.

He takes another lurching step, his body fighting him the entire way. Abaddon stands still, her hand outstretched, that vicious smile locked in place.

_Cas_

_Castiel_

_Castiel…_

Castiel reaches out—

 

 

_“Castiel!”_

 

 

 

Sam appears in front of Castiel, his frantic face snapping into his vision. Castiel jerks back, the world rushing back into sound and color. Sam pushes Castiel away, and Anna quickly runs to grab him, dragging Castiel away from the now-furious archangel.

“You little maggot,” Abaddon snarls. “You cannot stop me. He is _mine_.”

Sam is stiff, his back still turned to Abaddon. He takes in a slow, deep breath, and turns.

“No, Abaddon,” he says. “I’m not letting you take him.”

 

 

Abaddon narrows her eyes. Sam braces himself, but she does not move. Her gaze has turned curious, and she leisurely takes in Sam’s figure, finally settling on his hand, where it clenches tight around his angel blade.

“I know you.”

 

She steps forward, and Sam immediately brings up his blade, dropping into a defensive stance. Abaddon pauses.

“You were one of mine, weren’t you?”

“Only because you tricked me,” Sam snarls. “And I paid the price for it.”

Abaddon doesn’t seem fazed by Sam’s barely-disguised hatred. She merely smiles.

“Well.”

 

She extends a hand.

“I do not wish anymore angels to die,” she murmurs. “Join me, my friend. Join me, and I will spare your life.”

 

 

The offer hangs heavy in the air, dropping a hush between them. Castiel sees Sam glance back towards them, and for the briefest of moments, Castiel’s heart clenches in fear.

Then Sam turns, his words hard as iron.

“No, Abaddon.”

 

 

Her smile disappears.

 

“Save it,” Sam snaps. “Because I know what your promises are now. I see them for exactly what they are—just promises.”

Abaddon’s eyes flash with anger, the air around them sizzling with a burst of static. It snaps like a whip, hot and sharp between them. Sam doesn’t back down.

“You’re not taking them. I won’t let you.”

He may be afraid, but Sam is standing tall, facing his oldest enemy. His left hand begins to glow, burning white hot with his grace.

“I’m not letting you harm another human as long as I still draw breath,” he says, sharp and defiant.

 

 

 

Abaddon stares at him for a long moment, each second dragging by, agonizing and tense. Castiel doesn’t dare move.

Then, Abaddon smiles.

“Oh, I can assure you.” She raises a hand. “That won’t be for very long.”

 

 

One quick move—and Sam goes flying, blasted off his feet. Anna bolts forward, yelling his name, but it’s too late—Sam hurtles through the air and hits a wall, the concrete cracking from the impact. He falls to the ground, and is still.

 

 

 

Anna claps her hands to her mouth, whimpering. Castiel grabs her arms, pulling her towards him. He screams in his mind, begging, praying for him to get up. Sam doesn’t move.

 

 

Abaddon lowers her burning palm, and turns back to face them, her lips curling back to bare a wolfish smile.

“And…you.”

 

Her gaze settles on Anna.

 

 

“The infamous Anna I’ve heard so much…”

She exhales slowly.

“…whining about.”

 

 

Anna goes rigid.

 

Abaddon leisurely crosses her arms, one hand tapping blood-red nails against her cheek.

“Oh, yes,” she says softly. “Alastair would’ve loved to have you. Then again…”

She goes quiet for a minute, then twists her hand, the black blade shimmering into view.

“You can’t say yes if you don’t have your tongue,” she murmurs.

 

 

Castiel shoves Anna behind him, growling.

“I’ll kill you if you touch her,” he snaps.

Anna clutches at the back of his shirt, and Castiel can feel her trembling. He grips her hand tighter.

 

“Why, Castiel.”

Abaddon’s eyes gleam.

“You say that as if it’s true.”

 

She steps forward, and Castiel feels her pull, her energy trying to draw him in.

Abaddon smiles.

“You won’t,” she says softly, reaching her hand up. “And you couldn’t, even if you tried. You are mine, and I am yours.”

She moves closer, with the ghost of a touch—her hand hovering inches from Castiel’s cheek.

“You will never harm me,” she says softly. “Just like I will never hurt you.”

 

“Liar.”

 

 

Abaddon’s hand stills.

 

 

 

Castiel grips Anna’s arm, and they unsteadily back away.

 

“You’ve done nothing but hurt me and my family,” he snarls, fighting against the voice inside him, pulling him towards Abbadon. “So I promise you—“

He sucks in a deep breath, meeting her eyes.

“I’ll see you rotting back in Hell if it’s the last thing I do.”

 

Abaddon doesn’t move, just looking at him. And Castiel is shaking, still trying to back away.

Because even as he says the words, he’s not sure if they’re true. This strange hold Abaddon seems to have on him, he doesn’t know…

“Cas,” Anna whispers.

 

“You fool,” Abaddon mutters, taking slow steps forward. “You think you’re saving people? You think this will save this precious world of yours?”

 

Castiel stumbles over a shattered lip of rock, but Abaddon keeps coming, towering over them as she strides across the stone platform, hissing out her words.

“You open that portal—“

She stops, her face splitting into an evil smile.

“And you’ll condemn the world to die,” she breathes.

 

 

Castiel can’t think—but Anna is tugging at his arm, whispering urgently.

“Cas—“

“What?” Castiel hisses from the corner of his mouth.

Anna points.

 

“Look!”

 

 

 

 

Castiel turns his head, and freezes.

 

 

“Yo!” She says. “What’s up, bitches?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel stares in shock. Anna is frozen beside him. Even Abaddon’s poised anger falters, her mouth slipping open in surprise.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you,” Charlie says. “Hi. Hello. Hey.”

 

 

 

She picks her way through the scattered rubble, wrinkling her nose at the scraps of metal and wood littering the ground.  
“Oof.” She grimaces. “Bit of a fixer upper, huh?”

Abaddon stares at her, stunned.

“You're supposed to be dead,” she says, a little uncertainly. Charlie shrugs.

“Yeah, see, that's the problem with me. Don't know when to stay dead.”

She glances over, and waves jauntily to Anna and Castiel. They just stare back.

Castiel can't believe it.

_Charlie's alive?_

 

She stops opposite Abaddon, placing herself between the humans and the archangel. Abaddon seems to recover from the surprise, her cool stillness sliding back into place.

“I should have known,” she sneers. “Same old tricks, Sariel.”

Charlie raises a hand.

“Please. Call me Charlie.”

 

Abaddon narrows her eyes.

“I will do no such thing.”

Charlie raises one shoulder, looking utterly unconcerned.

“Suit yourself.”

 

Charlie sniffs, and hops up onto the slightly raised edge of rock, standing opposite Abaddon. She tucks her hands in the pockets of her jeans, shrugging.

 

“So. Apocalypse.” She raises an eyebrow. “Shall we?”

 

 

Abaddon is still, for a moment—then turns her hand slightly, looking down. The faint light catches the edge of the black blade, her fingers tapping the edge.

 

“You shouldn’t have come.” She glances up. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Typical,” Charlie snorts. “Leaving me out of the family drama.”

“I did not tell you to run,” Abaddon says evenly. Charlie shrugs.

“Had to do something to get the rest of you to notice me.”

 

 

“Right.”

 

Abaddon scoffs, her tone full of disdain.

“And this is what you finally decide is worth your time?”

Charlie slowly shakes her head.

“I never wanted any part of that fight,” she says, walking forward, raising her hands. “You know that, Abby. I told you—“

“You are the worst kind of betrayer,” Abaddon snarls. “At least I took a stand. You did _nothing_.”

 

Charlie sighs, running a hand over her face. She takes a couple steps so that her back is turned to Abaddon, and she flicks her eyes up, catching Anna’s.

 _Go,_ she mouths.

 

Castiel frowns and shakes his head, going for his gun—but Anna grips his arm, pulling him away from the stone dais where the archangels stand. Abaddon doesn't notice.

 

“You ran,” she continues, livid. “Ran like a coward.”

“Well, I'm not running anymore.” Charlie straightens. “Because I finally figured out where my loyalties lie.”

Abaddon stares at her for a minute, then she scoffs, jabbing an accusing finger towards her.

“I knew it. You’re on Alastair’s side.”

“No, I'm not,” Charlie says quietly. “I'm on theirs.”

Abaddon just stares at her for a moment, incredulous.

“Theirs,” she finally repeats.

 

They slowly start to circle around each other. Charlie doesn’t want to draw her own blade, but she keeps her hand ready. No tricks this time.

Abaddon is growing more and more furious.

“Humans,” she seethes. “Little more than glorified mutations, ruining the earth, destroying our Father’s planet—“

She cuts off, her expression turning nasty.

“Finally feeling at home, little sister?"

 

Charlie is quiet.

“Don’t say that.”           

Abaddon snarls.

“You never were loyal to Heaven,” she hisses. “You’ve never done what you’re told, you’ve never followed orders—“

“I thought that was what you loved about me,” Charlie says softly.

Abaddon goes quiet, glaring murderously at her.

“Come on,” Charlie continues, spreading her hands. “You’re just parroting him. The same stupid ‘pick a side’ bullshit Dad put us through, back in the beginning.”

Abaddon opens her mouth furiously, but Charlie cuts her off.

“And you’re seriously gonna die for that? Kill Alastair for that?” She exhales in frustration, dragging a hand through her short red hair. “I mean, Jesus—he’s my brother, but he’s a grade-A douchebag—”

“Watch your tongue,” Abaddon snarls.

Charlie stops, her jaw tightening.

“Seriously, why are you doing this?”

 

She moves forward, and Abaddon immediately steps back, her grip tightening on the black blade.

“To prove something to Dad?” Charlie asks incredulously. “He's not going to care.”

“Shut up.”

But for the first time, there's uncertainty in Abaddon’s eyes.

“Part of me thinks he never cared,” Charlie mutters, continuing to move in closer. “But this isn't going to do anything. All it will do is kill Alastair. Our brother.”

“I fully intend you kill you too,” Abaddon snarls back.

 

Charlie stops, dropping her eyes.

“Christ, Abby,” she mutters.

 

Abaddon stares at her, her voice deadly quiet.

“You let Alastair cast me down,” she hisses. “You betrayed me just as much as Father did.”

 

 

Charlie’s expression softens.

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

 

 

x

 

 

  
They run, and Anna leads him around a slight curve, back to where Gabriel is waiting, Castiel can see now—

Anna’s hand is painfully tight in his, and she’s panting, trying to speak.

“Cas, what if—what if she’s right?” She glances at him, shaking her head. “What if we screw this up? Fuck over the world? Because I don’t know if I—I don’t know if I’m strong enough—“

“Don’t talk like that, Anna,” Castiel grits out.

“But—“

“She’s scared.”

 

 

They reach the sigils, and they both come to a halt, breathing hard. Anna is staring at him, stunned, but Castiel knows he’s right.

“She’s just scared, because she knows you have to power to stop her,” he says.

 

Anna doesn’t have time to say anything before Gabriel is scrambling up and towards them, his face white.

“Anna, Cas—“

Gabriel grabs Castiel briefly before releasing him.

“You alright?” He asks gruffly.

Castiel just nods, clapping Gabriel on the back in a vain attempt to reassure him. “Where’s Sam?” Gabriel looks around. “Don’t we need him? To start the spell—“

“Gonna have to improvise,” Anna says tersely, snatching up a dirty scrap of paper. She thrusts it towards Gabriel.

 

 

 

“How’s your Enochian?”

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

They stare at each other for a moment, motionless. Then Abaddon sneers.  
“It’s a pity,” she mutters. “I did love you once.”  
“I still do,” Charlie says gently.

Abaddon turns away.

 

“Abaddon, please.” Charlie reaches out, tentatively. “Don’t do this.”

She touches her shoulder, and Abaddon whips around, jerking away from Charlie’s touch like she’s been burned.

“You really think some heartfelt plea will stop me?” She hisses. “I have planned this for millennia.”

She stares at Charlie for a moment, then turns her eyes Heavenward, as if daring for a challenge.

“And nothing will stop me,” she whispers.

 

 

Charlie sighs, dropping her hand. She turns her head slightly and hears, distantly behind her, soft chanting. A pang of emotion stabs through her, and she's not really sure whether it's relief or regret.

 

 

Abaddon misreads her expression, and laughs, loud and brash.

“Should have expected you to try, Sariel. You always were a sentimental idiot.”

Charlie turns slowly, meeting her sister’s eyes.

“And you always were a shortsighted son of a bitch.”

 

 

Abaddon stiffens.

“What?” She hisses out.

 

 

Charlie smiles.

 

“This is so not about you.”

Abaddon whips her head around, and that’s when Gabriel’s voice echoes across the room, the last words of an Enochian spell.

Abaddon jerks up, pupils contracting in sudden fear, then fury.

 

“What did you do—“

She bolts forward.

“ _What did you do?_ ” She screams.

 

Charlie just shakes her head.

“Goodbye, Abaddon.”

 

Then she vanishes.

 

 

 

Abaddon raises her hand and demons wink into existence at her back—and she whirls, screaming at them.

“Don’t just stand there, stop her, _stop them_ —“

A great heaving jolt—and she’s nearly thrown to her feet, the whole building around them shaking, blinding white light burning through the windows. A snarl and a flash as the demons around her scramble and throw themselves forward, lights shattering and smoke pouring from the less loyal, the air thick with confusion. The noise abruptly stops—a high pitched whine—

And the demons are dust.

 

 

 

There’s a slight drift of movement—a twisted black blade, its metal glowing slightly in the darkness.

 

 

But otherwise, there’s no sound. No movement.

 

 

Slowly, hazy outlines emerge from the smoke.

Two frozen figures, staring at each other in hatred.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The angel slowly rises from his crouch, teeth glinting in the light.

 

 

 

“Hey there, Abby,” he whispers.

 

 

Abaddon snarls.

“Don’t call me that.”

 

 

 

Alastair takes a step to his right, and she mirrors him, white knuckles on black blade.

“So sorry,” he purrs. “Guess I should have extended it to ‘Abomination’.”

“Takes one to know one, Ali,” she sneers back, flipping up her blade and pointing it at him.

The smile slides off Alastair’s face.

“Perhaps we should stick with the names our Father gave us,” he says coolly.

 

Abaddon doesn’t blink.

“Fine with me.”

 

 

 

They move slowly around each other, neither speaking, neither daring to make any sudden moves. Alastair inclines his head slightly.

 

“Long time no see,” he drawls, lisping over the words.

 

He slowly looks her up and down, his lip curling.

 

 

“And looks like neither of us are wearing our preferred clothing.”

“Looks like.”

 

Abaddon smirks.

“Yours doesn’t seem to be doing so hot.”

 

Alastair has burns, reddish, raw-looking sores all over his skin, across his face, cheeks—where his vessel is crumbling away. He glances down at his hand, then up to Abaddon.

“No matter,” he says serenely.

 

Abaddon slowly comes to a halt, and the two of them are silent. It’s the strangest kind of reunion, meeting after all these years.

“Can’t believe it’s finally here,” Abaddon murmurs.

 

 

“Strange, isn’t it.”

 

Alastair raises a hand, waggling a finger.

 

“And you know—almost thought it wouldn’t happen. Because I gave simple orders.”

His voice takes on an oily tone, barely concealing his irritation.

“ _Get me Anna,”_ he singsongs. “ _Get me my vessel_. But no.”

He flicks his fingers, and the air around them sparks with bolts of white fire. Abaddon rolls her eyes.

 

But Alastair continues.

“Going off on a ridiculous goose chase after one rogue angel,” he sneers, crossing his arms. “Seriously. Seraphs are so trying.”

“Try working with demon scum,” Abaddon says back, a slight smile twisting her lips.

 

Alastair doesn’t return it.

“Whatever a man sows, he shall also reap,” he murmurs.

 

 

The smiles slides off Abaddon’s face. She steps slowly around him again, passing through the remains of her demons, the stench of sulfur in the air.

 

“You haven’t changed at all, Alastair,” she says snidely. “Righteous and high-minded as ever.”

“As are you.”

 

Alastair toys with the edges of his cuffs, sounding bored.

“Seems like Hell did nothing to shrink your ego.”

 

 

 

Abaddon bares her teeth.

“You always underestimated me, Alastair,” she hisses. “This time it will be your downfall.”

But Alastair just laughs.

 

“You may have learned some new tricks in the pit, but you’ll do well to remember.”

He straightens, his eyes, dark and cold.

“You’ve never beaten me in a fight.”

 

 

 

Abaddon smiles.

“We’ll see about that.”

 

 

 

x

 

 

“Move, move—“

“Great,” Castiel grits out. “More running.”

 

Gabriel just shoves him forward, and they fall behind a lip of concrete, panting and terrified. Castiel had known it was coming, but he still wasn’t prepared for Alastair. The terror at seeing the two archangels, framed opposite each other, finally set to destroy the world with their fight—it chilled him to the bone. And now, barely hidden behind a thin wall—from two of the most powerful beings on Earth—Castiel’s starting to think they might not be able to pull this off.

 

Anna moves quickly, Gabriel at her side, head swiveling vigilantly back and forth. She drops down to her knees, spreading her hand out over the sigils marked on the stone. Castiel recognizes them from that first night, it’s a nearly identical scene—the only thing that’s missing is Raphael, sneering from the sidelines. Castiel shoves aside the memory, and kneels beside her.

“What can I do?” He hushes out. Anna grimaces.

“Nothing,” she says. “Just make sure I’m not interrupted.”

Castiel glances back. There’s no noise from the place they left the archangels, for now.

“No guarantees,” he mutters.

 

Anna is rolling up her sleeves when the air whips around them, and Castiel bolts up, yanking Raphael’s knife out, when—

A hand catches his wrist, and Castiel freezes.

“Charlie—“

 

She quickly presses a finger to her lips, shaking her head.

“No time—here—“

Charlie releases Castiel and pulls something from her pocket, shoving it into his hands.

“Holy oil,” she says quickly. “You have got to stay quiet, and stay out of sight, you understand me? It’s the only way this will have a chance in hell of working—“

“What about you?” Gabriel asks, grabbing the flask from Castiel. “Can’t you—“

“No,” Charlie snaps. “I gotta make sure this building doesn’t collapse around us, it’s weak enough as it is, and once those two really get going—“

She cuts off, her face twisting into a grimace.

“Things are about to get real smitey.”

 

 

She quickly waves them back, extending a finger and moving it through the air, then pointing at the ground. A glowing blue line circles around the three humans, flashing like fire for the briefest of moments, then fades away.

“That’ll protect you for a little while,” Charlie says. “It should give you enough time.”

Castiel moves forward.

“Charlie,” he blurts. “Wait—“

But she’s gone.

 

He halts, breathing heavily. Anna’s voice comes from behind him.

“Cas. Knife.”

 

 

He turns to see Anna with her arms bared, her jaw set. She holds out her hand.

“Cas,” she says again, gentle but urgent. “Please.”

 

 

 

Castiel hesitates, looking down at Raphael’s knife. He turns it around and hands it to her hilt first with shaking fingers. Then he steps back, helpless to do anything but watch.

 

 

 

x

 

 

Alastair draws his hands together, then slowly pulls them apart. A pure white sword appears in his hand, seeming to glow with an ethereal fire.

 

Abaddon watches him, expressionless.

“You really think yourself a match for me, Alastair?”

 

Alastair slowly brings the sword to his side. Same banter. Same pathetic attempt at scaring him away.

“Remember, Abaddon,” he says smoothly. “It was I who sent you to Hell in the first place.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she hisses back. “Daddy sent you to do his dirty work—gave you some extra steroids and you toddled off like a good little soldier.”

“And you really think this will be any different?” Alastair sneers.

“I haven’t been idle down below, Alastair,” Abaddon snarls, raising her blade. “I have power you can never dream of.”

 

 

Alastair pauses. Abaddon does not have her vessel, true—but then again, neither does he. There may be a chance, however small, that she could overpower him.

Alastair smiles. Time for Abaddon to experience the true power of Heaven.

“I’ll have you know, sister,” he says softly. “I didn’t come alone.”

 

Abaddon doesn’t blink.

“Neither did I.”

 

 

x

 

 

Anna raises the knife, and Castiel has to turn away, the taste of bile in his mouth.

He doesn’t care if this saves the world. He doesn’t care if this is humanity’s only chance. He can’t watch his sister do this to herself. Not again.

He kneels, checking the edge of the protection Charlie marked out. It’s faded to nothing but black ash, and Castiel stares at it, hoping it’ll be enough. Alastair and Abaddon are still opposite each other, unmoving. They’re too far away for Castiel to make out any of their words, but he can feel…something. An undercurrent of anger, hatred pulsing in the air between them. He can feel Abaddon’s hate.

He looks away.

 

 

 

The broken warehouse groans and hums around them, and Castiel shivers. The air seems to reverberate with a physical power, living and breathing, hushed and old. It’s almost as if the weakened walls remember the power that washed through them before, and they can sense its nearness, ready at any moment to feel it again. Castiel feels like he might crack and shatter with the force of it.

The ground below, ready to swallow him again into its depths.

 

 

He looks around the dilapidated building, over scraps of wood and forgotten papers, finally settling on a wall of shattered concrete. He remembers with a jolt in his stomach.

Sam.

 

Castiel turns, desperately searching over where Sam was thrown—and finally spots him through the darkness, sitting up, slowly regaining consciousness.

And next to him, another figure, with light brown hair and a leather jacket.

 

 

Castiel is up and bolting towards them before he realizes it. He runs, not sure whether Gabriel and Anna notice—but he doesn’t think. He just runs.

 

 

Then all hell breaks loose.

 

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

Abaddon whips her hands up, and Alastair moves at the same time—

 

 

The air explodes with noise and fire. The building is no longer empty—a sudden mass of bodies, angels at Alastair’s back, demons behind Abaddon—and they clash against each other, everything collapsing around them. Fire and bursts of grace, power being thrown—the smash of wood and stone, bodies falling to the floor—singed clothes and explosions, screams shattering the night.

 

Something explodes and Castiel swerves, barely missing the blasted scraps of wood that fly his way—and he stumbles, but manages to get up on higher ground. He looks out over the expanse in front of him, and his stomach drops.

 

It’s all smoke and fire and confusion—masses of swirling black and bursts of white—and Alastair and Abaddon in the center of it all, snarling at each other.

The place where Sam had fallen is now overrun with demons, and they’re quickly fighting their way towards him. To where the altar is set up.

 

 

Castiel whips around.

“Anna.”

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Gabriel stands helplessly by her side, shielding his eyes from the bolts of light flashing through the warped building.

He calls for the angel.

“Sam—“

Gabriel jerks back as the ground shakes again.

“Where the hell is he—“

Anna presses a hand against the ground, panting. She’s kneeling, cuts already made, and the floor beneath her has started pulsing weakly, sigils beginning to glow.

“I got it,” she breathes, her pale face flickering with triumph. “Just—Gabe—keep an eye out—“

“But Cas—“

Anna jerks her head up, eyes frantic.

“What? I—I thought he was with you—“

She snarls, trying to push herself up—

That’s when the ground beneath them roars, and Anna’s pulled forward, her hands pulled to the sigils. She hunches over, her eyes glowing blue.

 

 

x

 

 

 

He runs back towards the dark corner, hidden behind a flimsy wall of crates. Gabriel and Anna are undisturbed for now, they haven’t been spotted yet—but it’s only a matter of time.

 

Castiel sees an opening and makes a break for it—

A demon jumps into his path, snarling like a mad dog. Castiel pulls his gun and puts a bullet in its kneecap, but it keeps coming for him—blood dripping darkly from its wound as it crawls forward. Castiel doesn’t know what corner of Hell Abaddon pulled these things from—it’s like no demon he’s ever seen—so Castiel lowers his gun and starts the exorcism, yelling over the riot of noise in the warehouse.

 

“Exorciazamus te,” he shouts. “Omnis immundus spiritus—“

The demon stops cold.

“Omnis satanic potestas, omnis—“

Another comes out of nowhere—and Castiel’s back hits the ground, all the air knocked from his lungs. Hands curl around his throat and Castiel chokes, trying to rip it off—

 

A blaze of light sears through him, painting his eyelids white, when he opens his eyes, the demons are dead.

“Cas—“

Castiel gasps for breath, the ground trembling beneath him. Sam is running towards him, his hand still glowing. Castiel rolls over and then Sam is gripping his arm, pulling him up.

 

He barely gets steady on his feet before Sam is tossing something at him. Castiel snatches it out of the air without thinking.

“We have to protect Anna!” Sam shouts. “We have to make sure she finishes the spell!”

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

They move around each other, a wide circle forming in the mob and the wreckage that was quickly becoming the remains of the floor, bolts of power and fire sparking around them.

They eye each other coldly, ignoring the chaos, completely calm.

 

 

Alastair licks his lips, that smile wicked.

“Come on then,” he murmurs. “Show me.”

 

 

 

With an almighty crash, their blades meet, dark choking black against poisonous white.

Abbadon whirls and their blades clash again. With a great lurch, the ground beneath them splits, shaking the building and rafters. The fire is spreading, and it surrounds them, separating them from the rest of the war—dancing eerily around them as they fight, moving faster than the eye can follow.

Alastair is good, there’s no doubt about it, but Abaddon is ruthless—coming at him from every angle, and finally she whips around his left side, her blade quick as lightning—

 

Alastair grabs her arm and throws her, and Abaddon hits the floor, rolling out of it, whipping her head up, her eyes burning.

Alastair laughs, beckoning towards her.

“Come on, little sister,” he taunts. “We’ve only just started! Giving up so soon?”

 

Abaddon glares at him with hatred in her eyes, standing slowly. She brushes gravel from her torn black jacket, her hand shaking in anger. Alastair spins his blade in his hand, lilting his voice.

“But no, that’s not like you, is it,” he purrs. “Too much of a sore loser.”

Abaddon raises her arm and Alastair meets her, the metal of their blades ringing out as they strike out, again and again—a bone-chilling sound that stings the air, singing through the rumbling ground with every hit. Abaddon is seething, and Alastair is laughing, his tone turning cocky.

“Never could let anything go, could you—still holding your grudge, after all these years—“

Abaddon slashes at his right, and Alastair meets her at the last second, just barely stopping her in time. His smile drops.

“You gonna keep running your mouth, Alastair?” Abaddon sneers. She shoves him back and they face each other again, Abaddon twirling her blade in her hand. “Or are you going to drop the act and fight me?”

 

 

 

Alastair looks at her for a moment, then raises his white sword to match her.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Let’s do this.”

 

 

 

x

 

 

Sam roars and throws a shot of power, sending the demons scattering, but there are so many. Gabriel stumbles back from another, Raphael’s knife slick and loose in his bloody hand.

 

 

The fighting is mindless. Castiel’s not thinking anymore, he’s just reacting to the chaos, and he wields the angel blade with skill—it’s almost like second nature to him now—but there’s just too many. Body after body, blood and endless fear. Another drops before him, and Castiel’s numb heart still manages to ache. How many vessels will die, so that the angels and demons can wage their war?

A demon catches his arm, slashes him clean through his shoulder. Castiel yells, nearly dropping his blade—but he rallies, ducks the next attack and stabs the demon in the throat.

 

Castiel stumbles back, and tries to lift the blade again—but it sends a searing pain through his arm, and he drops the blade, falling to his knees. He scrapes at the ground, fighting against the pain. Distantly, he hears Gabriel yell—

 

Castiel looks up to see him at Anna’s side, yanking at her arm.

“Anna, _Anna_ —stop—“

She’s shaking, her face pale and white.

“No—“

The spell’s got its claws in her now, but she’s weakening, and they can’t hold this much longer—

“No, no, I got it—“

A huge flare of red light consumes her and Gabriel is thrown back, blinded.

 

 

Castiel yells her name.

“Anna!”

 

He’s too far away, he can’t reach her—

_“Anna!”_

x

 

 

Alastair raises his head slowly, before his eyes slide down to his arm, where a deep gash is slowly leaking blood.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

 

Abaddon watches him, her voice low.

“What are you going to do, Alastair?”

She breathes heavily, a lock of hair slipping loose.

“Kill me?” She sneers. “You really think that will do anything?”

Alastair pauses briefly.

“What are you talking about?” He snarls, hissing out the words. Abaddon gives a jeering laugh.

“All those years of living under our Father’s thumb, cleaning up the mess he left…and you never once questioned it?”

 

She slowly moves forward, stepping through the fire, hissing pits of tars sucking at her boots.

“Because I’m starting to think it was all a lie,” she seethes. “Another big deception. For fate. For destiny.”

 

Alastair grabs her, wrenching her away, and they spar again, blades flashing as they dance around each other, powerful blows ringing through their ears.

“You’d like that,” he hisses. “I know that’s what you want to believe.”

He seizes Abaddon’s throat, and she struggles against him, snarling.

“You think I don’t know? What you’ve done all these years? Twisting souls into your demons, sending them through the cracks in the Earth through which you could not slip, corrupting the pitiful weak humans—“

Abaddon rears and throws him off, whirling as he rolls up into a crouch, glaring hotly at her.

“Then tell me, brother,” she spits. “What was the reason for all those deaths, the chaos and horror before I was ever put under the ground?”

“What do you want me to tell you, Abaddon?” Alastair roars, and another section of the building collapses—a wall and a chunk of the floor vaporizing, along with a few unfortunate angels and demons.

“That I’m secretly on your team?” Alastair sneers. “That I was wrong this whole time?”

“The truth,” Abaddon snaps out. “You may kill me, to complete Father’s twisted plan—but I will not have you lie to me!”

 

Alastair lashes out, and Abaddon’s blade meets his, sending out a sharp echo of sound that seems to reverberate through everything.

Abaddon crowds right up to his face, hissing at him.

 

“Tell me, Alastair, _defender of man_ ,” she snarls. “TELL ME!”

 

 

Alastair shoves her back with sharp force, his face contorted in fury.

“You want to know the truth?”

With a roar, his wings flare out, red tinged with deep black, towering mightily above his head.

“I… _hate_ this place,” he seethes.

 

Abaddon breathes in sharply, her lips twisting in triumph. Alastair continues to hiss out his hatred.

“ _I hate it_ ,” he snarls again. “And I would do anything to escape this—you may have been to Hell, but I have lived it, every day! These humans are _nothing_.”

Alastair stalks forward, grabbing her collar. She snarls and twists, and they both have their blades at each other’s throats, one slice away from death. Alastair doesn’t seem to notice.

“With their stink, and their sin—their irritating whining voices as they pray, to _us_ , for some intervention from a fate of their making—”

Alastair leans forward, into the sharp edge of Abaddon’s blade. The metal bites his skin and his vessel begins to bleed, small trickles of red running down its black face.

“The beloved pets of an absent father, who ran off with no instructions and a world to run,” he seethes, voice simmering with hatred. “It’s the worst kind of torture.”

Abaddon is barely holding restraining herself, unbidden glee and malice in her face.

“Then join me,” she whispers harshly. “We’re fighting for the same thing, brother. We can rebuild it together.”

She slowly lowers her blade, and Alastair does too. They stand, motionless, barely a breath away while the world collapses around them.

 

“Join me,” Abaddon whispers.

 

 

“And together we will wipe the Earth of this plague.”

 

 

Alastair is silent for a long moment. But then his features harden, and he steps back, once again bringing up his blade to point directly at Abaddon’s heart.

 

“No. I am a good son.”

He doesn’t waver.

“I will do my duty as my Father has laid it out for me. Only He may create.”

 

Abaddon’s eyes darken, but she doesn’t hesitate. She flips up the twisted black blade, something almost like sadness in her eyes.

“You disappoint me, brother,” she murmurs.

Alastair’s expression is unreadable.

 

“You were guilty of that first.”

 

 

 

x

 

 

Anna continues to mutter the words of the spell under her breath, over and over, closing her eyes to concentrate. Distantly echoing, she can hear the sounds of fighting, shouts and noises—but it all fades away, fades into the background to the steady thrumming inside her—the power inside building and buzzing, demanding an exit.  
And she gives it one. She turns it to the sigils on the floor, the portal glowing blue below her. Anna can feel herself weakening, but she knows that there's no backing out now. She'll finish the spell or she'll bleed out. Whatever comes first.

 

She watches the steady drip of blood, drip, drip, down her arm, melting into the portal, sucked away. This had been her weakness, it always was. She liked the magic. She liked how it made her feel; stronger, better—more useful to Cas, finally worthy of being his equal. But Raphael turned it into something so much darker, evil, and now—Anna’s going to get rid of it. Purge herself of every last trace.

 

 

 

But there's a small voice in the back of her head—a thread of doubt and fear worming its way in.

  
_What are you thinking? You can't do this._

It sounds like Raphael. Like Naomi. Like every dark terrible thought she’s ever had, the ones that kept her up night after night—the ones that drove her to this shit in the first place.

 

 

  
_You're going to fail._

_You're going to die._

  
“No,” Anna grits out.

 

_You're going to let the world burn._

_Again._

 

  
No. _No._ She's going to do this. If it’s the last thing she ever does.  
And suddenly, Anna realizes—

She’d be okay with that.

 

  
_Give it up, girl,_ the voice sneers. _You're not strong enough_.

 

 

  
Anna lifts her head, focusing on that voice.

  
“Go to hell,” she snarls.

 

 

 

 

 

  
With one last shove, Anna summons all the power she's got, and pushes it towards the portal.

 

With a great jolting heave—it releases her, Anna falling back from the sudden shock of it. The light roars and is sucked back, the sigils glowing briefly and then fading to black.

Anna slumps back.

“Didn’t think that would work,” she says weakly.

Then she passes out.

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Abaddon stumbles, clutching at her side. Alastair spits blood, walking around again.

“Come on,” he hisses. “Get up.”

Abaddon wipes her cheek, her hand coming away red.

“I will enjoy watching you die,” she snarls back.

Alastair snarls, sending a flaring burst of power her way. She raises a hand, blasting it out of the way, but it suddenly veers off course, sucked down into a pit of churning black earth. They both stare at it, and then the world breaks around them.

 

 

x

 

 

 

 

In an instant Gabriel is at her side—he grabs Anna and frantically pulls her away, watching as the portal throbs, opening up.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

The ground dissolves into a maelstrom of fire and black and smoke, a great roaring pit that instantly sucks those too close in, and it roars as it grows, slowly getting wider. The wind whips around them, the air stinging and cracking with its pulsing energy.

The door to Hell, open once again.

 

 

 

Abaddon drags her gaze back to her brother, breathing heavily.

“Looks like this fight just got a little more complicated.”

Alastair nods slowly.

“Now we have the wealth of choice.”

He throws out a hand, vaporizing a demon that had gotten too close to their fighting ground. The pit belches and spews out smoke, fire spilling forth.

“Here it is. Your free will, Abaddon.”

He smiles.

“Do you wish to die by my hand? Or spend the rest of your days back in Hell?”

Abaddon’s eyes flash with something that could be called fear, before it’s gone, and she’s hard as iron, hissing back at him.

“I’d die before going back there.”

Alastair leers.

“Consider your wish granted.”

 

 

x

 

 

Gabriel shakes her.

“ _Anna!_ Come on, wake up—”

She doesn’t respond, her breath shallow, her face pale.

Gabriel shakes his head, clumsily trying to patch up her cuts, but they’re barely bleeding anymore. She’s lost too much blood.

 

 

He looks around in desperation, then yanks himself up and dives back into the chaos, screaming for him.

“Sam!”

He spots him, fighting off another angel. Sam ducks and plunges his blade into its chest—and it dies with a shriek and an explosion of grace. Gabriel cups his hands around his mouth, yelling.

“SAM!”

Sam whips around.

“Anna!” Gabriel yells.

 

He doesn’t have to say anything else. Sam immediately disappears, and Gabriel turns to see him kneeling at Anna’s side. He starts running back, a sharp pain in his side, his heart beating wildly.

There’s no sign of Castiel.

 

 

x

 

 

 

 

“Get your fucking hands off me—“

The demon hits him, and Castiel falls back, hissing in a breath. His mouth is bleeding, teeth cutting into his ragged lip. The other grabs his collar and they drag him away, drag him towards the hissing pit of power where the archangels stand. He fights them the whole way, yelling himself hoarse.

 

The portal is growing steadily, sending out a baking heat. The rift is messing with everything, and Castiel can feel the demons’ power on him weakening, but he is too, he can barely think—

A rush of blinding red light—and the hands on him disappear. Castiel falls to the ground, unable to stand anymore. Something’s wrong, he can’t seem to move his legs, the ground trembling beneath him—

 

He feels the power calling to him, the choking essence of Hell spilling forth.

 

 _Anna,_ he breathes.

 

_What have you done?_

 

 

x

 

 

 

 

Anna opens her eyes, gasping.

Sam’s dirt-streaked face melts in relief, tugging her up.

“Thought we lost you, kiddo.”

She takes a deep breath, smoke stinging her lungs.

“Anna—“

 

Gabriel comes out of nowhere, throwing her an angel blade. She moves to press her back up against Sam’s, but Gabriel waves a frantic hand, shaking his head.

“No, Sam, get out—“

“What?”

Then Gabriel’s splattering something at their feet, dumping it in a messy circle, and Sam’s eyes widen. He darts away, and as soon as he’s clear the angel throws out a hand, the holy oil igniting instantly. Anna shrinks back from the leaping flames, fumbling for Gabriel’s hand.

“Gabe, what—“

He shrugs, panting.

“Angels can’t get out of it, right? So they can’t get in either?”

Anna stares at him, choking out a laugh.

“Gabriel, you’re a fucking genius.”

 

A demon rushes up to the line, but halts, snarling. They back away, raising their blades.

Sam rips its away, its eyes blazing like the sun.

 

“Sam—“

Anna grips the blade tighter, struggling to see him through the smoke and haze.

“What do we do—what do you need—“

“Stay here,” Sam yells. “Just stay—“

Something tackles him, whether angel or demon, they can’t tell—and the two of them watch helplessly as the chaos rages around them, repulsed by the flames of their shelter.

 

Everything is collapsing—falling down, the air lit with flashes of grace and fire—shrieks as the ground cracks—the power of the portal ripping through everything. There’s barely a building anymore—it’s just razed ash and burnt metal.

 

 

 

x

 

Alastair shoves her back again, and they stumble back, drawing in ragged breaths. They’re too evenly matched. This fight will continue until they both destroy each other.

 

“You know what must be done.”

 

 

Alastair darts his tongue out, running it over the edge of his teeth.

“I do.”

Abaddon casts her eyes around, at the scattered and decimated armies around her, almost wishing to see the humans that were the source of all this mess. She’s going to make them pay. She’s going to take her time killing them.

Alastair is glaring at her, and Abaddon shakes her head, her voice hoarse.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” she breathes. “Not this, not like this—“

“No excuses.”

Alastair’s cold eyes find hers.

“Not now,” he whispers.

Abaddon stares back, breathing heavily.

“But you know how this ends, brother.”

 

 

Her eyes slowly turn to the portal, her voice flat.

“One of us must go,” she whispers. “Otherwise…”

“Otherwise the world dies,” Alastair murmurs.

 

 

 

x

 

 

Anna clings desperately to the blade, her fingers cramped and her heart in her mouth.

“It’s gonna work,” she breathes. “It’s really gonna work.”

The Hell Gate’s open, she and Gabriel are safe behind their curtain of fire—the archangels have no choice now, because they won’t just let this world get destroyed, they can’t—

 

Anna turns and sees her brother, crumpled on the broken stone floor.

“Cas,” she whispers.

 

She bolts forward, but Gabriel grabs her arm, holding her back.

“Anna, no—“

“We have to get him, we have to get Cas—“

“It’s fucking suicide—“

“I don’t _care!_ ”

Anna struggles against his hold, nearly crying, but Gabriel won’t let go—

“I’m not leaving him,” she shouts. “Not Cas, not now—“

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

The portal roars, huge and red.

 

Castiel scrapes against the ground, panting for breath.

Ragged dark shapes rush past him, oblivious to his presence. He crawls forward, choking for breath. There’s a hazy ring of fire in front of him, someone shouting his name—

He looks up, into the eyes of the dead angel in front of him, its blood forming a greasy black slick on the ground.

He scrambles back, his throat choked.

 

Even angels bled the same.

 

 

His back hits something, some jagged stone, and he clings to it, his vision fading.

There’s blood trickling down his temple, and it hurts to breathe, the world slowly falling silent, everything turning to dark, to gray.

 

Castiel slips, barely conscious of his cheek hitting the pavement.

 

It’s over for him. It’s over now.

 

 

 

Footsteps, harsh voices, the crackle of flames and the building collapsing around him.

Then she’s at his side, yanking him up.

 

 

Castiel almost fights against it—the strong hand around his arm, the desperate voice in his ears.

 

A face appears, mouthing words.

_Get up get up_

It’s lost as he slides under again.

She shakes him.

_Get out of here, Cas, take Anna, get to him_

 

A sudden flare of grace sparks through him, and her words jolt back into place, finally matching up with her mouth.

“Get to Dean, get out of here—“

Charlie hauls him up—shoving Castiel back as she’s tackled by a demon, its eyes black and mouth snarling. She twists, screaming at him.

“Run, Castiel!” She yells _. “Run!”_

 

He stumbles back, legs almost giving out.

But he runs.

 

 

Gabriel and Anna are right there—surrounded by flames—and he sees Charlie quickly dispatch the demon, darting away to join the fray by Sam’s side—but Castiel can’t think.

He tears away from them, Anna’s frantic scream following him as he barrels around the corner. He dips down briefly, grabbing an angel sword from where it’s fallen from its dead owner’s hand, faint blue wings splattered on the ground.

 

Castiel kills another demon, panicking, only wanting to see one thing in the chaos. He shrugs off its corpse, and he runs, runs until he’s nearly crying.

“Dean—“

 

 

He yells, screaming for him.

“ _Dean!_ ”

 

“Cas—“ comes the anguished cry, and Castiel nearly stumbles—but he can’t stop now, no, _no_ —he can’t—

There’s a bright flash of light around the corner, the explosion, the death of another demon—

And then he’s there. He’s there and Castiel runs, tears flowing freely now.

 

“Cas—“

Dean darts forward, screaming at him.

“ _Cas_ , dammit—“

Another demon blocks his path, but Dean smites it quickly, and Castiel keeps running, closing the distance between them.

Dean shoves the body away, and he turns, his eyes finding Castiel’s—through all the blood and smoke and haze—

 

“Cas,” he breathes.

 

 

 

And that’s when the angel stabs him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel yells, throwing himself forward.

 

 

 

“ _NO_ —”

 

 

Dean falls to his knees, staring in shock at the blade that cut through his side, his hands covered in red.

 

 

 

Castiel breaks into a sprint, screaming for him.

“ _DEAN!_ ”

 

 

 

The angel raises its arm, about to deliver the killing blow—but Castiel tackles it—seizing the neck and slicing his blade through its throat. Wings explode in front of his eyes, a pitiful shriek—and Castiel shoves it back, whirling to catch him right before he collapses.

“Dean—“

 

Castiel stumbles underneath his heavy weight and they both drop, messily falling back.

Dean finds his collar and seizes it, his knuckles white.

“Cas—Cas. H-hey.” He gives a shaky laugh, tugging weakly at Castiel’s shirt. “’Bout time you showed up.”

 

 

Then his knees buckle. He falls against Castiel, head dropping limply to his shoulder.

“ _Dean—“_

Castiel shakes him.

“No, no, Dean, c’mon, Dean—“

He can see now, there’s a gash in his side, blood and grace leaking out of it—

Castiel clamps his hand over the wound, trying to stem the flow.

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes blurring. “ _Shit_.”

“H-hey—hey, I—”

Dean glances down at Castiel’s hand, letting out a broken laugh.

“I think I—I think I’m bleeding.”

 

He tries to laugh again, but he doubles over, inhaling sharply. Castiel panics, hiking him up in his arms.

“No, no, hey—“

He clumsily taps Dean’s face, his throat choked in fear.

“No, stay with me, Dean, c’mon—“

Dean smiles feebly, his eyes sliding closed.

“Always,” he whispers.

 

 

Castiel looks around wildly, cowering as another bolt of power shakes through the building, making the ground beneath them tremble.

“Come on—“

He roughly pulls him up, slinging Dean’s arm around his shoulder. Dean sags against Castiel’s side, struggling to say something.

“Cas…”

“It’s okay,” Castiel blurts, gripping at the leather of Dean’s jacket, barely keeping him from falling. “Hold on, I got you.”  
“W-wait,” Dean murmurs.

 

His bloody hand fumbles, slipping over Castiel’s skin.

“You should—just go, go,” he hushes out, finally grabbing his wrist. “Take Anna, get out of here—just—“

“ _No_ ,” Castiel snarls.

He forces Dean’s head up, making him meet his eyes.

“I’m not leaving you, you understand?”

Dean just winces in pain, tightening the hand on his wrist. Castiel swallows his fear, hardening himself.

“You understand me?” He growls.

 

Very slowly, Dean nods. Castiel exhales shakily.

“Okay—“

 

He gets his arm around Dean’s waist again, urging him forward.

“Now, come on. _Come on._ ”

 

They make their way through the chaos, Castiel supporting Dean, half running, half stumbling around the corner, as the remains of what used to be a building trembles around them. The ceiling is gone—the milky light of twilight bathing everything in a sickly glow as the war rages on.

They stumble over the uneven ground, Castiel struggling to keep his grip.

“You’ll be fine,” he tells him, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “Fine, you hear me? Sam or Charlie’s going to fix you up, and you’ll be okay. It’ll be okay—”

 

Dean grabs onto the edge of his shirt, slipping slightly.

“I…I’m sorry,” he mumbles. Then his legs give out.

 

“Dean—“

 

Castiel drops with him, catching him just in time before he hits the floor. Dean’s gasping for breath, his face pale.

“No, no, _no_ , come on, come on—“

Castiel looks around wildly, for help, for anything—Sam and Charlie are fighting off angels and demons, Anna and Gabriel struggling amongst the haze and smoke to find them, and in the middle of it all—the archangels snarling at each other, locked in a stalemate.

 

 

There’s a sharp crack and the ground beneath them splits—Castiel barely rolls Dean away in time from the gaping chasm cracking open the floor. Abaddon is stalking towards where Alastair is lying, spitting blood, echoes of grace dancing in her dark murderous eyes.

She catches sight of Castiel, and she screams, wings black as night flaring behind her.

She raises her blade, and—

 

 

 

Dean shoves him out of the way. A flash of light and Castiel falls—the air crackling with heat and flame. His head slams against the concrete and the world breaks, jagged white streaks obscuring his vision.

 

 

Something shatters, far away, and someone is screaming. Castiel fumbles, fingers scraping against the ground.

 

 

 

 

Then, a hand. Castiel seizes it, pulling himself blindly towards him. He grips the leather of Dean’s sleeve and closes his eyes, bracing himself for it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

But it never comes.

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel drags his eyes up—just in time to see Alastair tackle Abaddon, and the fight starts anew, as they whirl and dance away again.

 

All around them, the war continues, but they’re spared—ignored for this brief moment as the world collapses around them.

 

 

 

 

“Dean,” Castiel mumbles, lifting his head.

He freezes.

 

 

 

 

 

Dean’s face is ashen white, his chest soaked in blood. Grace shines feebly through his wounds, bright new stripes ripped into his stomach.

Dean sucks in gasping breaths, fixing him with terrified eyes.

 

 

Castiel feels something inside him tear from its cage, clawing desperately at the air.

 

“ _No_ —“

 

 

He roughly jerks up, pulling Dean into his arms.

 

“Cas—“ Dean chokes out, blind hands scraping at nothing.

Castiel seizes them, his mind in shock.

“It’s fine,” he finds himself blurting. “It’s fine.”

Dean convulses, and Castiel quickly pulls him to his chest, covering them both in sticky red.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he lies.

Castiel rips a strip of cloth from his shirt and presses it against Dean’s side, weak spirals of grace stubbornly shining where Abaddon’s blade tore into him. It covers up the horrible red for a moment—but then it quickly soaks through, staining Castiel’s fingers.

 

 

_You know this._

Castiel curses himself, his hands shaking.

 

_Staunch the flow, get the skin closed, stop blood loss at all costs._

 

 

His father’s voice in his head, screaming at him.

 

_Focus, Castiel! Do not fail—_

 

 

“Focus, Castiel,” he mutters, a sob choking his throat. “Focus.”

 

He strips off his overshirt too, bunching it up and clumsily pressing it to Dean’s wound, but it doesn’t do anything—and Castiel is trembling, he’s _useless_ —he’s failing him, he can’t help him, he can’t—

 

 

“Cas.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean’s hand closes around his, stopping him cold.

 

“It’s—it’s okay.”

 

 

 

Castiel stares at him. Dean slowly shakes his head, once.

“It’s okay,” he whispers.

 

 

Castiel feels something in him break. He drops the soaked cloth and wordlessly gathers Dean up into his arms, burying his face into his hair. Dean breathes shallowly against him, his eyes half-closed.

Castiel holds him close, praying desperately, praying and screaming in his head for help—but nothing happens.

They don’t appear.

 

 

 

 

Then, of all things, Dean laughs.

 

 

 

“H-hey. Hey.” He reaches up, weakly tapping Castiel’s arm. “We got her now, don’t we, Cas?”

 

He coughs, his voice fragile, lost in the noise around them.

“Ne-never make the…first move,” Dean says softly, smiling up at him. “Right?”

 

 

 

Castiel lets out a choked laugh, squeezing his eyes shut. Dean tries to laugh too, but it’s too much, and he convulses again. Castiel holds him until he stills to a tremble, his labored breath on Castiel’s cheek.

 

 

 

“C-cas.”

 

He reaches up, trying to touch Castiel’s face, but he doesn’t have the strength, his hand coming to rest weakly on Castiel’s chest.

Castiel swallows, and gently takes Dean’s hand. He feels so cold.

“Yeah?”

He closes his hand over Dean’s wrist, feeling the slow struggle of his pulse.

_Do angels even have pulses?_

“I need to—to tell you something,” Dean whispers.

 

Castiel stills.

 

 

“No.”

 

He clutches Dean’s hand, shaking his head.

“Don’t you do that. Don’t you dare.”

Dean quiets, those eyes on him again. Castiel draws in a shuddering breath.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “You’re not saying goodbye.”

Dean’s eyes glint with a bit of his old fire.

“Yessir,” he mumbles. “You…you got it.”

 

Castiel swallows, cradling his head. He softly strokes through Dean’s hair, trying not to cry. Dean’s hand is limp in his own, those green eyes unfocused.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

 

 

Castiel brings a hand to his cheek, trying to shush him, but Dean won’t stop. He keeps apologizing, over and over, throat choked with tears.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he blurts. “So fucking sorry—“

“No, no, Dean, it was me—“ Castiel says, shaking his head.

“It was me,” he says again, his eyes stinging. “God—I’m so sorry—“

He dips his head, struggling for breath.

“I didn’t mean it, none of it—she, she made me—“

Dean’s pale face flickers with relief.

“Knew it,” he mumbles. “You always were a bad liar.”

 

“I couldn’t let her,” Castiel whispers. “She was going to kill you.”

 

That seems to strike a chord. Dean lifts his head, looking at Castiel with a strange gleam in his eyes.

“I couldn’t let you be dead,” he whispers.

His voice is so quiet, Castiel can barely hear him.

“I wouldn’t let you—so what made you think…”

Dean’s suddenly struck by a fit of coughing that wracks his whole body. Castiel holds him until he stops shaking, and when he finally goes still, there’s blood on his lips.

Dean swallows, meeting his eyes.

“What made you think…I could ever live…in a world without you?” He whispers.

Castiel lets out a dry sob, cradling him to his chest. Dean refuses to let go, one hand clinging loosely to the front of Castiel’s bloodstained shirt.

“You’re an idiot, Cas,” he mumbles. “Such a goddamn idiot.”

 

 

 

Castiel holds him, crying silently, barely conscious of the world ending around them. He can hear the clash of blades, the fight of angels and demons, but he can’t think. There’s only Dean in his arms.

 

The ground beneath them rumbles and jolts, and Castiel lifts his head, inhaling unsteadily. He needs to move him, they’re not safe here—

He looks down, at Dean’s face. His eyes have closed, his breath slow and labored. Castiel unsteadily brushes the bloodstained hair from his temple.

“Hey,” he says shakily. “Hey. You still with me?”

 

Dean doesn’t speak. Castiel steels himself, trying to sound calm.

“Dean,” he whispers, stroking his cheek. “Look at me. C’mon.”

 

Dean opens his eyes, but they’re clouded, a hazy film settling over the beautiful green.

“Look at me,” Castiel says firmly, despite the terror clawing at his insides. Dean manages it, slowly, finding his gaze. There’s a steady drip of blood at the corner of his mouth. Castiel wipes it away with a shaking thumb.

“It’s gonna hurt, Cas,” he mumbles. “Gonna hurt so bad.”

 

Castiel comforts him, choking out lies.

“No,” he whispers. “You’ll be fine, Dean, just—“

“Cas, wait, I—“

“It’s me, Dean, I’m here, it’s me—“            

He clings to him, beating down his own terror, trying to stop Dean’s flailing.

“Cas—“

Dean grabs weakly at Castiel’s shirt, nearly crying.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I’m sorry.”

 

Castiel shushes him, cradling his head.

“Don’t talk, baby, just breathe, okay?”

Dean’s not making any sense, and Castiel’s heart is pounding. They need help, this is bad, this is very bad. He repeats the desperate chant to Sam, to Charlie.

_Dean’s hurt, please come now, Sam, Charlie, please, Dean’s hurt, save him, save him_

Dean twists and seizes, darting up a hand up to Castiel’s collar, clutching at the rough fabric.

“D—don’t know if it’ll work, Cas—“

Castiel’s mind whirls.

_What?_

“I think…I think it will, but I don’t know, I don’t know,” Dean slurs, voice fading away into a choked sob.

Castiel wants to scream. Scream at the injustice of it all, scream with the rage and fear like acid in his throat as he sits here, useless. He can’t do anything.

 

Dean is breathing heavily, trying to speak again, but Castiel doesn’t let him.

“Shh, shh.”

Castiel kisses his forehead, gently rocking him back and forth.

“I got you,” he murmurs, trying not to cry.

“I got you.”

 

 

 

And for one brief moment, they have this—stealing one last kiss at the end of the world. Castiel presses trembling lips to Dean’s own, tasting the sharp tang of blood, salty and cruel.

Dean’s eyes slide closed, but Castiel can feel him desperately trying to form words, whispering _Cas_ into his mouth, unable to muster the energy to kiss him back.

 

 

The ground shifts again, and Castiel cowers and shields Dean as the glass of the windows shatter, spraying them with broken shards.

Castiel shrugs, shaking and lifting his head—

A demon, rushing towards them, fire in his eyes, and Castiel blanks. His only thought is to protect Dean.

He desperately looks around for a weapon, but there's nothing.

 

Then Dean’s hand is there—gripping tight. The demon dies with a shriek, and Castiel falls back from the explosion of power, Dean slipping from his arms to the floor.

Castiel jerks himself up, panting.

Dean was able to smite the demon, but something happened—there are flames all around them again, and Dean is convulsing, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“DEAN—“

 

Castiel rushes to him, but a hand seizes the back of his neck, dragging him away. He thrashes against the hold, kicking and lashing out, screaming.

“No, no, _NO_ —“

The hand holding his hair jerks it back, and he gasps out in pain, the face above him sliding into focus.

He catches a glimpse of black eyes and an oily slick smile sneering down at him before he’s thrown at her feet. Abaddon instantly seizes his throat, her face contorted in fury.

“Say it,” she hisses, bringing her blade up to his neck. “Come on—“

Her eye is blackening, her lip split and dripping, the fight with Alastair taking its toll.

Castiel’s eyes slide to see the other archangel opposite them, swarmed by her demons, their deaths marked by sharp bursts of light. From the corner of his eye he sees slight movement, Sam inching up behind Abaddon—

She snarls, throwing out a hand and he’s blasted back, lifted off his feet.

“Stay out of this,” Abaddon hisses, her fingers dripping blood.

 

Nearby, Charlie is lying on the floor, panting, her cheek streaked with red. But whether it’s her blood or some demon’s, Castiel can’t tell.

He jerks away from Abaddon with a sudden burst of strength, twisting the blade from her grip and turning it—

But his foot catches and he slips—missing his intended target, and Abaddon snarls, yanking the blade away from Castiel and striking him across the face with it.

Castiel drops, seeing stars. He can feel blood running down his temple, the room spinning around him. He tries to crawl away from her, but the pain becomes too much. He falls, staring up into her terrible power.

Her eyes are gone in a silver-black haze, the air around them crackling as her power hisses and throbs against the widening portal behind them.

“You are infinitely trying my patience, you little cockroach,” she hisses.

 

 

Abaddon raises her sword—but a hand grabs her ankle and she’s flipped to her back, snarling. She drops her blade as Alastair grabs her again, seizing her shoulders—and then they’re locked in a struggle again, snarling.

“You goddamn bastard,” she spits. Alastair’s eyes flare at her blasphemy, the air growing dark around them.

“Mind your tongue,” he hisses. “Or I’ll rip it out.”

 

 

 

 

 

Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. All sounds fade away, until there’s just Castiel, weakly pushing himself up onto his hands. Abaddon’s blade is lying on the ground, not two feet in front of him.

 

Castiel stares at it, a dull pounding in his ears.

There’s blood on the blade. Alastair’s blood.

Dean’s blood.

 

 

 

 

Castiel feels it again, pulsing, thickening sharply, heating his veins. Abaddon took everything from him. She stripped Castiel of any sense of himself, twisted his mind, warped his soul. It started back in the pit, when he was pushed, forced down so low that he agreed to torture, to do something so utterly inhumane as he thought he would never do. She’s hurt everyone he loves.

And he’s not going to let her get away with it.

 

The black blade is lying there, hissing slightly against the ground, singing, calling out to him.

Castiel leans forward and wraps his hand around the hilt.

 

 

 

Abaddon whips her head around like she’s been electrocuted.

Alastair seizes the moment and takes advantage—he throws her, and she lands on her back, the floor cracking beneath her. She struggles up, staring at Castiel. She’s gasping for breath, staring at him, her beautiful red hair now filthy and matted with sweat.

 

“You shouldn’t be able to touch that,” she hushes out.

 

Castiel looks down at the black blade vibrating in his hand, feeling like hot twisted metal.

“You said my time in Hell changed me,” he breathes, his rage building, boiling, curling through every word. 

“Guess you didn’t think it could turn around to bite you in the ass.”

 

 

Abaddon stands slowly, her voice taking on a strange, melodic tone.

“Come now, Castiel,” she commands. “Put that down.”

“No,” Castiel hisses.

Her eyes flash. She raises a hand.

“Put—it—down—“

Her power seizes him again, and Castiel pushes against it, but his fingers are loosening, his arm dropping without his consent—

 

Alastair snarls.

“Enough of this—“

Alastair whips his blade around, moving towards Castiel.

“I will not have a mouthy vessel ruin everything, what has been planned for centuries—“

He raises his arm, and Castiel sees his shot. With the last of his strength, he wrenches away from Abaddon’s power, breaking her control, and he slashes out—

Alastair shrieks in pain, falling back. Castiel cries out too, dropping to his knees, releasing the blade. The attack had sent a throbbing pain shooting up his arm, and he cradles it to his chest, unable to breathe.

“ _No_ ,” Abaddon screams.

 

She’s in front of him in an instant, throwing Castiel to the floor.

“You insect,” she hisses, snatching up the black blade. “This fight is mine alone.”

 

She turns and kicks Alastair’s blade away, stalking up to him. He tries to scramble away, but she swoops down on him, seizing his neck.

“Abaddon—“

She raises her blade, smiling in triumph.

 

Alastair’s face twists—and he snaps his hand out, grabbing the blade—stopping it inches from his neck. The edge slices into the meat of his hand, his grace breaking through—and Abaddon snarls, yanking at it in vain. But she can’t pull it back, and they’re trapped together—poised to fall.

 

 

 

The Hell Gate is widening, demons and angels alike getting sucked in. They’re locked in a stalemate, right on the edge. Abaddon digs her heels in, but one wrong step, one slip—

She slowly drags her eyes up to her brother’s.

“No sense in both of us dying,” she whispers.

Alastair’s face flickers with a brief moment of doubt. He may be prideful, but he’s not stupid—they both could kill each other in an instant—whether by blade or power or portal. He believes in his divine mission, but his death was never part of the bargain. If they stay here, they’ll both get sucked in.

“I’ll back off it you do,” Abaddon says urgently. “And we’ll continue this fight, fair and square.”

Alastair's cruel eyes scan her face, searching, calculating. Abaddon’s eyes flick up to the nearing edge, the wind of Hell whipping around them, its energy sparking and bursting, ready to tear them down.

“This is not what he planned!” Abaddon cries. “Please!”

Alastair stares at her.

“I swear,” she whispers. “On our Father.”

 

Alastair is motionless. But then he nods, and together, the two of them fling Abaddon's blade to the side. Abaddon steps back, and Alastair straightens, the two of them panting heavily. Both empty-handed. Both weaponless.

 

 

 

“This is not how it was written,” Alastair mutters.

Abaddon nods.

“I know.”

 

 

 

 

 

Then she strikes. Alastair tries to grab onto her, but she repels him with her grace, forcing his hands down.

 

 

 

Abaddon seizes him by the throat and yanks him in, one hand on his heart.

“You should not have trusted me, brother.”

 

 

x

 

 

 

Castiel tries to push himself up, his mind reeling.

 

Then a hand is on the back of his neck, cold and angelic.

He instinctively balks, screams and fights against it—

But the hand is pulling him up, and there’s Anna, thank god, Anna—

Above him, Sam’s blood spattered face, his mouth moving with unheard words.

“No,” Castiel mumbles. “Wait…”

And he’s being dragged away, from something, leaving something behind, and he can’t, he shouldn’t—

Castiel groggily clutches at his wrist, shaking his head.

“Sam—“

He misunderstands, quickly shooting a healing wave through Castiel. But it only serves to clear his head, and Castiel jerks back, panicking.

“No, Sam, wait—we have to find Dean—“

He fights against Sam’s grip, but the angel is too strong. He doesn’t hear him in the chaos.

“SAM, LISTEN TO ME—“

 

 

 

x

 

 

“Rot, you son of a bitch,” she hisses.

 

Then she shoves him.

 

 

For one breathless moment, he’s frozen—framed against the dark night, teetering at the edge.

Then Alastair falls backward, sucked into the churning pit.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Castiel yanks at Sam’s hand, when a blasting noise freezes them all in their tracks.

It rumbles through them and shakes the rafters, a flaring white-blue light of heat and flame—

The pit roars in triumph, and then everything is still.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Abaddon stares at the motionless ground, completely frozen.

None of them move.

Then, she starts to laugh.

 

 

 

 

She settles, a vicious smile creeping across her face.

“I win,” she whispers.

“I win.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The leftover angels back away slowly, shooting each other terrified looks. One by one they disappear, once they realize their leader is truly gone, and that the fight is over. The beginning of the end of the world.

Sam and Charlie are the only ones left. Charlie has a gash in her arm, grace weakly shining through, her nose bloody. Sam’s hands are still locked tight on Castiel’s, but he can’t bring himself to struggle. They all stare at her in horror.

Abaddon turns slowly, fixing her eyes on the four of them. Castiel feels Sam’s hands jerk slightly, and his gasp when he realizes they haven’t moved. Abaddon raises a finger.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she says softly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

 

She starts to walk towards him, eyes fixed on Castiel.

“Despite God, and his endless attempts,” she hisses, her lip curling. “I. _Win_.”

 

She comes a stop, her blood-red hair shining in the light of a jagged moon.

“Now begins the cleansing of this earth,” Abaddon murmurs. “To take back what is rightfully ours. For the worthy.”

 

She turns her head.

“I am merciful, Sariel,” she says. “I give you one last chance.”

“Bite me,” Charlie snarls back.

 

Abaddon’s lip curls.

“So be it.”

 

 

She flicks her eyes back to Castiel.

“But you.”

 

She twirls her hand and Castiel collapses at her feet, forced to bow down.

He shakily looks up, into her merciless eyes.

“You have caused me nothing but pain,” she hisses. “I would have let you live. But there is no room for abominations in my new world.”

 

She settles, a vicious smile creeping across her face.

 

 

“I win,” she murmurs. “So. I win.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The movement is so slow and soft Castiel might have missed it.

 

 

Soft, shaking footsteps, as he drags himself forward, his face so pale under the blood on his skin. Abaddon sees Castiel’s sudden stillness and cocks her head.

 

 

She takes in the sight of Dean, his hands clenched over his wound. His eyes are locked on Castiel’s.

 

“It’s you.”

Abaddon frowns.

“The one they all talk about.”

 

She sounds more curious than angry.

 

 

 

The demon behind her shoulder steps forward, but Abaddon raises a hand, stopping him. She looks Dean up and down, then lets out a tinkling laugh.

“Another lowly seraph who thinks he invented rebellion,” she says softly.

Then her voice turns sharp, her mirth gone.

“What do you want?”

Dean tears his eyes away from Castiel and continues to drag himself towards Abaddon, the hatred burning in his face. His fingers twitch.

Beside him, Charlie stills.

 

“Get behind me,” she whispers.

 

 

Castiel doesn’t even hear her. He’s frantically pushing himself up, running for Dean, he has to get to him, save him—

Sam grabs him quickly, pinning his arms behind his back. Castiel roars and thrashes against the hold, screaming against his skin.

“Anna, Gabriel, hold on to Sam,” Charlie barks, moving in front of Sam, as he struggles to keep his grip on Castiel. Anna and Gabriel are frozen, and Sam whips his head around, yelling at them.

“Do what she says!”

“Sam, what are you _doing_ —“

“Hold on and don’t let go!” He snaps, ignoring her question. Anna’s face drains of color, and swallows, nodding slowly.

They both grab on, Anna clinging to the back of Sam’s jacket, Gabriel’s hand in hers. They back away slowly, retreating from the angels in front of them. Charlie’s hands begin to glow blue.

 

Dean can barely walk. He stumbles a little as he approaches Abaddon, one hand dropping to support himself. He keeps the other arm firmly wrapped around his stomach, the leather of his jacket hiding the damage.

Castiel whimpers and screams against Sam, clawing at him.

“Cas—“

Sam shakes his head.

“Cas, don’t, don’t,” he whispers.

His voice is broken, desperate. It freezes Castiel, down to his blood, down to his very soul.

He stills in Sam’s arms, his muscles refusing to work anymore. He can only watch.

 

Dean finally pulls himself up to face her, a broken angel standing defiantly before the Queen of Hell.

“You haven’t won, Abaddon,” he gasps out. “Not as long as I’m around.”

Castiel pushes against Sam, finally ripping away his hand and screaming for all he’s worth.

Dean turns, eyes finding his.

 

 

One last time.

 

 

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

With a sudden move, Dean removes the jacket and throws it away from him. It lands in a cool crumpling pile at their feet.

Abaddon had started to laugh, perhaps amused by this lowly angel’s recklessness. But when she sees the extent of Dean’s injuries, she stops, the laughter frozen on her face.

Dean’s hands slip over his chest, his fingers dipping into the wound where his grace desperately boils out. Abaddon screams.

“What are you _doing_?”

 

Dean struggles forward. She bolts forward, trying to seize him, but a bright flare of grace burns her, scalding her and throwing her back.

“Don’t you dare,” she spits. “ _Don’t you dare—_ “

She curls a fist, and the world starts to shake around them again, everything collapsing, falling and demons rushing forward—

 

Castiel hears a voice ringing in his ears, screaming Dean’s name. He realizes it’s his own.

He fights against the arms holding him, wanting to run forward, he doesn’t care if he dies, he can’t just _stand_ here, no, no, _Dean_ —

 

Two fingers find his forehead and he yells, but the world starts to dissolve around him.

 

He pushes back against it, and the last thing Castiel sees is Dean.

 

 

 

 

 

Dean darting forward, one hand closing around an archangel’s wrist.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all tags still apply. i promise.  
> (also thank you for waiting so patiently)

 

The first thing that comes back to him is sound.

 

 

 

Soft at first, muted and fuzzy. Slurred noises that drag him out of the darkness, gradually becoming sharper as he continues to listen.

 

_Are you alright?_

 

Castiel breathes. In. Out.

A cracked voice answers the first.

 

 

_Abaddon?_

Anna. She’s so far away.

 

_Dead_ , comes the reply, soft and choked. _She’s dead._

 

 

Feeling is next. There’s the cold press of stone underneath his back, and the sharp scrape as his fingers dig into its surface.

He inhales sharply. His lungs burn.

 

And then, the soft press of a hand to his forehead.

Castiel opens his eyes.

Sight.

 

 

And a bright expanse of blue. He blinks a couple of times, uncomprehending. His head falls to the side, his mouth dry and sticking with words. Anna and Gabriel’s worried faces are hovering over him.

“Anna.”

 

His voice is no more than a whisper.

 

 

Anna touches his cheek, and she murmurs something Castiel doesn’t hear. Gabriel’s deeper rumble echoes beside him, a solid pressure underneath his back.

_Can you sit up?_

The blue light fades away, blurry figures moving in from the sides. Charlie, war-torn and weary, and Sam, his cheeks stained with tears.

“Cas.”

 

Castiel drifts vaguely upward, the world righting itself, tilting horizontal once again.

Gabriel’s strong hands grip him, helping him up.

 

Castiel hears his own voice ask questions, watching everything from the outside, like a ghost.

“What happened?”

Sam’s mouth opens and answers him blankly, blank words against blank backgrounds.

“A…an explosion. Charlie protected us.”

Castiel nods, but he’s not sure why. Of course Charlie protected them. Of course.

 

A sharp crack sounds behind them, and they all flinch, refusing to look. But Castiel does anyway.

His eyes slide numbly past Gabriel, past Anna, past Charlie. He can’t take in their wounds, their own tears, because something is screaming inside him, something pleading, begging him to turn back.

 

 

Castiel’s eyes fall on the place the angels had stood.

 

 

 

He spots the source of the sound—a beam that fell and crashed. Castiel stares at that broken metal, his heart pounding.

There’s nothing. Only a scorched black mark, streaking angrily across the floor, the evidence of angelic wrath—

But nothing else.

 

No burnt wings, no evidence of death.

It’s all gone. There’s nothing.

Nothing but a crater, barely more than a smoking pile of ash.

 

 

 

Castiel takes a couple deep breaths.

“Where—“

He stops, closing his eyes.

 

 

“Where’s Dean?”

 

 

 

Silence.

 

 

 

 

He clenches his fists, trying to sound calm.

“Where is he?” He whispers, barely keeping the tremor from his voice.

 

 

 

Charlie tries to tell him.

“Cas…”

“ _NO_ —“ Castiel screams, whirling.

 

“ _Where is he_?” He yells again, his body starting to shake.

 

 

Anna is crying.

 

 

“You—“

He darts up to Sam, seizing his jacket.

“What did you do to him?” Castiel yells. “ _What did you do?_ ”

Sam just stares at him with dead eyes. Castiel shoves him.

“Don’t just stand there,” he shouts. “ _Do_ something—“

 

Sam doesn’t move from where Castiel’s pushed him. His eyes are unfocused, fixed on the ground. He’s barely breathing.

Castiel backs away from Sam, shaking his head.

“No,” he whispers. “No.”

 

Castiel spins and stalks away from them, darting toward the burnt out shell, where someone he knew had once stood—

He stops at the lip, the boundary of where Charlie’s shield protected them, his chest heaving.

Charlie had protected them. Them.

Not anyone else.

 

“Dean,” Castiel chokes out, voice ringing against the empty rock.

 

 

 

“ _Dean_ ,” he calls again, waiting for him to answer. Dean never fails to answer him.

 

Dean always comes when he calls.

 

 

 

 

Castiel’s face cracks out into a harsh smile. Of course he’s there. He’s here, hiding somewhere in the rubble. Dean’s just messing with him. Of course. Like he always does.

 

Dean’s probably hiding. Hiding, so he can appear out of nowhere and surprise him, like he always does. To pop up, and say _Hey Cas_ in that low voice of his, and then they’ll laugh, and then the joke will be on him, right? What a funny joke it will be—

 

Anna is calling to him, but Castiel chooses not to hear her. He stumbles across the broken earth, looking around wildly.

Dean has to trick him. Dean has to show up. To appear and laugh at Castiel for believing that he was dead. He has to.

 

 

Castiel panics and trips, falling. He reaches out and grabs something for balance at the last moment, a jagged piece of metal, and he clings to that sharp edge, panting.

_It’s okay,_ he thinks. _Dean’s coming back, he’s just—_

He hardly notices the gash the metal leaves in his skin, doesn’t realize as his blood drips to the floor. He continues his desperate search amongst the ruins, the trail of red following him like a sick shadow.

Castiel’s hands shake as he turns, looking at them, searching for something, some flicker of hope, some possibility, some chance—

 

“Don’t you see?”

He laughs at their blank faces.

“He’s okay, it’s fine. He defeated Abaddon.”

 

Castiel takes stiff steps forward, laughing humorlessly.

“He—he killed her with some trick, and he’ll be back, he just has to recover.”

He looks around at all of them, desperately trying to hold his insincere smile.

 

 

It fades as Castiel takes in their silence. Something hard and horrible clenches around his heart.

 

 

 

“Sam?” he whispers. “Charlie?”

 

Charlie lowers her beautiful head. Gabriel’s normally laughing face is like stone.

Castiel doesn’t remember moving forward, but he finds himself in front of Sam again, curling his fingers around his lapels.

 

 

 

“Sam.”

 

 

 

 

His voice breaks.

 

“Is he—“

Castiel can’t finish that sentence. He closes his eyes, and the world seems to fly away, everything black and open, pressing down on him.

 

“Please—just—“

Castiel sinks against him, digging his fingers into the cloth of Sam’s shirt.

“We’ll—we’ll get him back, okay? We’ll get him back.”

It doesn’t mean anything. Of course Dean escaped somehow, he always had before.

 

Sam only lays a soft hand on Castiel’s own, gentle fingers curling around his injury.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he whispers, taking away his pain.

 

 

 

Castiel steps back, staring numbly at his hand.

 

He wants to laugh.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

 

“It doesn’t hurt,” Castiel says out loud.

 

He laughs, clenching and opening his fist.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he says again, looking at the unblemished skin of his palm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel doesn’t realize he’s collapsed until his hands hit the ground beneath him.

Because he doesn’t understand. He can’t.

 

 

 

His arms are shaking, and he’s gasping for breath.

 

No, no _—_ Dean, not Dean—

He promised—

_You_ _promised_

 

Anna’s hands, on his, arms soft around him.

“Cas,” she whispers. “Cas.”

 

 

Castiel wants to shove her off. He wants everything to disappear. He wants the whole world to reel and die and rip apart because that’s what it feels like now—like he’s being torn into, heart ripped out of his chest, skin left raw and bleeding.

There are no wounds, there’s no physical pain, but oh—that would make more sense. Castiel wants to bleed. He wants to hurt. He wants to rage and cry and fall against the floor, because he is dying—he has to be dying—

“ _Dean_ ,” he cries out.

 

Castiel crumples, clinging to his sister.

Anna cradles him in her arms as he cries, saying Dean’s name, over and over.

 

 

 

Charlie flashes to Sam’s side, whispering something. Sam is still, the tears on his cheeks drying silently. He nods stiffly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Anna lifts her head.

 

“We have to—“

Sam stops, taking a deep breath. Anna’s grip around Castiel tightens.

“We have to go,” Sam whispers. “I’m sorry.”

He can barely speak, grief heavy in every word.

“It’s not safe here,” he says haltingly. “There could be more demons, angels, who knows, on their way now—“

“Jesus Christ—“

Gabriel snaps.

“You want to give us a minute?” He shouts at Sam. “Let him have one—fucking—minute—“

 

He breaks off at Sam’s anguished expression. They stare at each other, motionless. But then Gabriel turns away, shoulders shaking.

He whirls and slams his hand into the wall.

 

 

 

 

None of them move.

 

Gabriel shrinks back, crouching down, holding his head in his hands.

 

 

 

 

“No.”

 

 

 

Castiel’s voice is flat. Emotionless.

 

“You’re right. We—we have to go,” he hears himself say.

 

 

He lifts his head up.

Charlie and Sam are staring resolutely at the ground. Gabriel’s body is wracking with sobs. But Anna’s warmth is solid around him, and Castiel starts to stand, leaning on her for support. Her hand reaches, finds his own, and she locks their fingers together.

 

“We should go,” he repeats, his voice empty.

  

He’s just empty.

 

 

 

 

Castiel manages to get on his feet, but he thinks it’s solely through instinct. Everything in him is threatening to collapse.

But Anna is strong, stronger than he could ever be, helping him move towards the angels, human shadows dragging behind them.

They walk away from that horrible black twisted crater, leaving it behind, shoving it into the dark.

 

Sam approaches him, a hand outstretched, ready to take them away.

 

 

But Castiel jerks back suddenly.

 

“Wait,” he mumbles. “Wait.”

 

 

Sam’s hand drops, his eyes unseeing. Castiel steps away from them, turning back.

He moves up to the lip again, one hand wiping his eyes. By some twist of fate, it had made it inside the rim of Charlie’s protection, the curve of the shield and the explosion just shy of destroying it.

It’s there, just where he dropped it, the leather shiny and black against the sharp bleak stone of the floor. Even so, the edge of one of the sleeves is slightly charred, burned away by grace.

Castiel gently gathers the jacket up, folding it into his arms.

He wordlessly returns back to Anna’s side, and she wraps an arm around him.

 

Then the ruined remains of the building are empty, the stars twinkling over the ravaged battlefield.

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

 

 

Anna chews at her fingernails, watching him.

 

They had finally gotten Cas back to the cabin, back to his room, but in a moment of quiet he had looked down, staring at the jacket in his hands and just snapped—raging and fighting against them until Charlie forcibly put him to sleep.

He sank in her arms, and they gently tucked him into bed.

 

Anna steps forward, sitting by his side. She puts a hand to his forehead.

“He’s burning up,” she says to no one.

 

 

She stays for a moment, just touching him. She brushes the hair back from Castiel’s face, taking a small comfort in his dry skin. He had been sweating for the past couple of hours, hot and unpredictable. Sam hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of it.

Now that Abaddon’s dead, Anna thinks he’s purging the sickness, whatever feverish grip the angel of Hell had on his mind.

Her eyes fall on the small table by the door, and her throat tightens.

Dean’s jacket.

 

 

Anna stares for a moment, then stands. She walks over slowly, reaching out a hand to touch the soft suppleness of it. She brushes gingerly over the leather, and she frowns, looking down.

Her fingers are wet. With blood.

Anna snatches her hand back, setting her jaw. She stalks out of the room.

 

She comes back some time later, with a towel, a bowl of water, and a needle. Just in case.

She pulls the jacket into her arm, cleaning it the best she can. She could have asked Charlie, to repair it with a snap of fingers, but that felt wrong somehow.

She wipes the excess blood away from the leather, watching the brownish-red come away on the white, leaving it fresh and clear.

 

She finishes her work and tenderly folds the jacket, setting it on the chair next to Castiel’s bed.

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel opens his eyes, and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

He wonders if a fever had clung to his skull, crawling through this brain and eating him from the inside out.

_How is he?_

Charlie’s voice drifts down the hall, through his open door, and he shudders.

_Better, I think. He’s eating at least._

Anna sounds so tired. So tired.

 

_And how about you? How are you doing?_

The concern in Charlie’s voice almost makes Castiel break down again, that this creature of Heaven had come to care about them, care about them as deeply as she did for her own brothers and sisters.

Anna’s answer is lost to him as Castiel sinks again, only jolting out of it, when he hears—

“And…and Dean?”

 

 

He chokes as he struggles to hear. Charlie’s weight shifts.

Castiel didn’t want to ask what could have killed him. He didn’t want to know. But he pushes aside the blankets, hanging desperately onto the silence, waiting for her answer.

“Sam’s been looking into it, nearly driving himself crazy…”

Charlie sighs.

“We think…we think it was the grace. He let it get out, without control, which is the one thing we’re told never to do.” She laughs humorlessly. “Dean never did like following rules, though.”

Her voice is thick.

“And I gave him some of mine,” she whispers. “He was more powerful than he should have been.”

Charlie doesn’t say it, but Anna does.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Anna murmurs.

 

 

 

 

They’re quiet for a minute.

 

 

“And I guess…that’s what did it,” Charlie says. “It was strong enough to vaporize Abaddon and a room full of demons.”

“Jesus,” Anna breathes. Charlie takes a deep breath.

“And I don’t know how he knew—that it would do that, that it would work—”

She stops.

“He could have killed us all,” she finishes softly.

 

Anna is quiet.

“So, there’s no way to…”

She swallows.

“Nothing we can do?”

“Sam is trying to believe we can, but honestly…”

Castiel grips the pillow until his knuckles turn white.

 

 

“I don’t think there is,” Charlie says softly. “He’s gone.”

 

Castiel clamps his hands over his ears so he doesn’t have to hear anymore.

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

He resolutely avoids looking at his reflection until he pulls on his shirt, covering the scarred skin on his chest.

It’s the first day he’s been strong enough to get out of bed. The last remnants of their…bond, whatever sort of control Abaddon had on him—it held Castiel in its grip for nearly four days. It took its toll, as her poisonous darkness slowly leeched out of him, almost like withdrawl, draining Castiel of his strength and leaving him empty.

 

He wipes the steam from the mirror in front of him. Dark sunken eyes stare back, out of a tired face covered in stubble. He turns on the tap, absently stroking his cheek.

 

There’s a knock on the door and Anna comes in, a towel in hand. She takes a seat on the toilet and hands him a razor, watching him. Castiel knows she’s been hiding them.

He runs the razor carefully over his cheeks, clearing away the foam and slipping cool water over his skin. He’s starting to feel like himself again.

Anna passes him the towel and he wipes his face. He drops it on the sink and looks up to see her smiling at him.

 

“You need a haircut,” she says, trying to keep it light.

“Why, Red?” Castiel tiredly returns the smile. “You want to botch it again?”

She laughs, maybe a little too loud.

“I did not botch it, you just have an oddly shaped head.”

 

Castiel scoops some water up from the sink and flicks it at her. Anna dodges it, but grins at him, beckoning a finger.

“Come here.”

Castiel obliges, bending down. She tousles his hair, laughing.

“You’re all shaggy.”

 

 

_“This is getting long.”_

Castiel inhales, jerking up.

 

 

_He tugs at the strands, mouth finding his as he pushes him back, rolling under the sheets._

_“You’re all shaggy, Cas,” Dean laughs, brushing his hair back from his face._

Castiel grips the edge of the sink as he hunches over, gasping.

 

“Cas? _Cas_!”

 

 

Anna’s voice filters dimly through his brain. She’s frozen beside him, holding out a hand.

“Cas, please. Look at me.”

Castiel is pulling down air, his lungs burning inside him, his stomach roiling, like he’s going to throw up. He moves back from the sink, shaking his head. Anna is frozen beside him.

“Castiel,” she orders. “You say something right now, or—“

Castiel smashes the mirror with his fist.

 

 

Anna recoils, and Castiel yanks back his hand, hissing. He grips his wrist with his other hand, blood already starting to well up on his knuckles.

 

He doesn’t move, breathing heavily. Anna is white.

She raises a hand, then moves slowly, taking the towel from the sink and holding it out. Castiel exhales, unclenches his hand from around his wrist, and takes it.

 

They both stand there for a moment, neither speaking. Water is still dripping from the faucet. The mirror is shattered, damaged beyond repair. Castiel can see his face reflected, a thousand times, broken and ruined.

 

“Come on,” Anna whispers. “I’ll patch that up.”

 

 

 

He follows her without another word.

 

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel zips up the last of his bags, and sits back, exhaling slowly. They had been clearing out the cabin the last couple of days, preparing for the move back to the church. After all, nothing is chasing them anymore. It’s safe to go back. Or so Charlie says.

Castiel looks up, at the bare walls of the room around him. It feels so empty now. He drops his eyes, curling his hand around the rough strap of his bag. He slings it over his shoulder, and walks out without another glance back.

 

 

He comes into the kitchen, and stops in the doorway, taking in the tense atmosphere. Charlie and Sam are standing stiffly across from Anna, who’s sitting at the table, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“Am I missing something?”

Sam’s mouth tightens. Castiel notices he’s gone back to the suit.

“We just told Anna,” he says, exchanging a look with Charlie. “We’re not…just helping you move back.”

“They’re leaving,” Anna says sharply.

 

Castiel starts.

“What?”

 

Sam sighs.

“We can’t stay on Earth any longer. We’ve put it off as long as we can—“

“—But we have to get back to Heaven,” Charlie cuts in. “Someone has to put things right.”

“It’s been chaos since Alastair left,” Sam murmurs. “And Charlie is the last remaining archangel. It’s her rightful place.”

Anna glares down at the table, all of her hunched, closed off. Castiel feels very much the same. They can’t leave, they can’t leave them, not now, not after everything.

Charlie dips her head, speaking up.

 

“It’s not what I wanted,” she says quietly. “But now that we know Alastair isn’t coming back…”

She trails off. Castiel feels a sudden twist inside his chest, a stab of guilt. He had been so wrapped up in himself that he had forgotten. Charlie had lost not just one, but two people. She may have had her differences with them, but Alastair and Abaddon were her family. Castiel can’t even begin to imagine her pain.

He clenches his fist around the bag’s strap, holding it tight a minute before loosening his grip and letting it slide to the floor. He sticks his hands in his pockets, walking over to her.

“Charles in charge, huh?” He says softly.

Charlie smiles, but it’s slightly sad.

 

 

 

 

She lays a hand on his arm, and Castiel feels the familiar twist, tingles of grace humming through him—and then they’re standing in front of the church. Anna, Sam, and Gabriel appear a moment later. It’s a cool, bright morning, the last days of summer giving way to the crispness of autumn. Castiel shivers.

 

 

Charlie leaves first. She gives them all hugs, her hands lingering a little on Castiel’s.

“I’ll visit soon,” she whispers in his ear as they part. “I promise.”

She vanishes a couple seconds later. Sam exchanges quiet word with Gabriel, Anna, then places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, the two of them sharing a brief silent look. Then he’s gone too, and the three of them are left alone in front of the empty church.

 

 

 

Anna takes Castiel’s hand, leading him up to the doors. It’s been almost a year since they were here last. And now they’re back, finally here to stay. No more devils and demons and angels. Now, they can return to the way things were. To their normal lives.

As normal as they had ever been.

Anna fishes out a key from somewhere, and the two of them pull open the great church doors, the morning sunlight flooding the altar room.

It’s practically the same. Slightly more dusty than usual, but largely untouched. Castiel inhales deep. The smell of sulfur stll lingers in the air.

 

It’s almost absurd in a way—coming back to their childhood home, trying to fall back into the life they had known before. To forget that they had been in the middle of an apocalypse, that the three of them had stopped fate and chosen each other, with the help of some rogue angels, those who had refused to buy into God’s plan.

  

Castiel almost wants to laugh.

How do you go on when you’ve told destiny to go fuck itself?

 

 

 

They get started, and then everything is such a whirl, flurries of activity and too much to keep track of as they set about the task of making the place fit for human habitation again. Castiel tries to focus on his work, but Gabe and Anna ask him if he’s all right nearly every other minute, and Castiel is sick of it. He just needs to be alone.

He can tell they don’t know how to act around him, what to do, what to say, so they mainly fall into one of two—treating him like a child or treating him like nothing is wrong. Castiel doesn’t know which one is worse.

 

So at the first opportunity, he makes some excuse and slips back into the sanctuary of his old room. He closes the door behind him, relishing in the silence that follows. He takes a deep breath, and looks up.

His room. God, it doesn’t feel like his anymore. Of course, everything’s still the same, the bed, the dresser, the stuff on the walls—but something feels different. The air maybe. Or perhaps it’s him.

 

He stands still for a moment, then goes over to sit on the bed, one hand coming up to his shoulder. He massages the sore muscle, squeezing until it starts to hurt. He drops his hand. He stands again. And sits back down. 

He ends up going through his bookshelf, his drawers, the crap under his bed. Most of it is mindlessly tossed out, his body working on autopilot. He finally gets to his bedside table, pulls open the drawer, and stops.

Tucked neatly inside is a half-drunk bottle of whiskey.

 

Castiel stares at it for a moment, then dips his head, letting out a short laugh.

Of fucking course.

 

 

 

He grabs it, twists off the cap and takes a drink.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

One morning, when he walks into the kitchen, Anna and Gabriel’s conversation stops abruptly. Castiel tries not to grit his teeth.

“What,” he says, not looking at them.

 

They both hesitate, and Castiel tightens his jaw, jerking back a chair at the kitchen table and falling into it. Then Gabriel opens his mouth.

“Possible case nearby. We think its demons.”

Castiel’s hand stills as he reaches for the coffee pot. Anna shoots Gabriel a vicious glare.

“Or it could be a ghost,” Gabriel covers quickly. “We’re not sure.”

Castiel swallows thickly, and grabs the pot.

“Oh,” he just says.

 

“But we got this one,” Anna says swiftly, coming around his side. “You should…stay here. Rest some more.”

“Right,” Castiel says, nodding and pouring himself a cup. Anna narrows his eyes at his apparent lack of fight.

“You gonna be okay by yourself?” She asks, crossing her arms.

“Yeah,” Castiel says, taking a sip, forcing himself to look disinterested. “You go. I’ll be fine.”

 

Anna doesn’t look like she believes him one bit, but an hour and a half later, she and Gabriel are all suited up and ready to hit the road. She comes to give Castiel a hug before they leave.

“Call you tonight,” she says, kissing his temple. Castiel doesn’t miss the warning note in her voice.

He just smiles wanly up at her.

“Okay.”

 

He turns back to his book, and so he doesn’t see when Anna points up to the sky, mouthing something, perhaps to an angel.

_Keep an eye on him._

 

 

 

 

Castiel sits at the table, on edge, waiting until he hears the sound of Gabe’s car fade away. Then he forces himself to wait half an hour more.

Then he kicks into action.

 

Christ, he’s a goddamn idiot—why didn’t he think of it before? He grabs his keys and heads out to the Impala, briefly swinging by the trunk to make sure he’s got everything. Yarrow, black cat bone. He’ll have to stop by a graveyard to get some dirt, but that won’t slow him down much. He gets the keys in the ignition and starts driving.

 

 

Two hours and one grave desecration later, Castiel pulls the car to a stop, and gets out.

He moves with methodical precision, spray-painting a huge trap to cover the whole intersection, triple checking every sigil. When he’s satisfied, he chucks the paint can aside, and heads back to the car. He quickly dumps everything in a small metal tin, and heads to the middle of the road. His hands are clumsy, shaking as he digs a shallow hole to stick the container in. He sets it down and is about to cover it back up, when he curses.

A picture. He needs a goddamn picture of himself.

 

Castiel yanks the cover off the tin and digs out his wallet—crap, does he even have a picture of himself? One of his fake IDs, maybe—

He stops. Inside, creased and now a little faded—the picture of him and Anna. And Dad.

Castiel stares at it for a minute, unblinking. His mouth is dry, his heart lurching unevenly inside him. He can’t seem to move.

 

Then he drops the picture inside, puts the lid on, and buries the box in the middle of the crossroads.

 

 

 

He shoves himself up, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. He turns around slowly, muttering under his breath.

“Come on.”

 

The night is black and still, nothing but the sound of the wind. Even the stars seem to be hiding.

“Where are you?” Castiel hisses. “Come on.”

He pulls his angel blade from his coat, clenching the handle.

“COME ON!” He shouts.

“Well, hello, handsome.”

 

 

He whips around.

 

 

Standing in the middle of the road is a woman, dressed in black, a smile on her lips. She blinks slowly, and when she opens her eyes again, they’re red.

“Castiel Remington,” she purrs. “Been wondering when you’d call.”

 

She steps towards him, but Castiel doesn’t move away. She can’t hurt him. Not inside the trap.

“So you know what I want,” he says lowly.

The demon smiles, looking him up and down, her eyes dragging up the length of his body.

“I do,” she murmurs.

Castiel doesn’t move, even as she steps right up into his space, tipping her face up towards his.

“Can you do it?” He whispers.

 

The demon pauses, a coy smile on her lips. Castiel’s nerves jolt.

“So you can,” he breathes out in a sort of delirious hope. “You can bring him back.”

A small voice of reason screams in the back of his mind—to think about Anna, Gabe, all those memories of Hell—

Then the demon nods, and Castiel forgets everything else.

 

“Then do it,” he orders, putting the point of the blade on her chest. “Or I’m ramming this through your throat.”

The demon pouts slightly.

“Ooh, come on now.” She smiles. “At least buy me dinner first.”

 

Castiel snarls—he doesn’t have time for games. He crowds into her space, using the advantage of his height.

“Bring him back,” he spits, raising the blade to her throat. The demon purses her lips, raising a hand.

“Slow down there, sugar.” She taps his chest with a manicured nail. “Let’s talk payment first.”

“I don’t care,” Castiel growls. “Anything. You give me my ten years, and—“

“Ten years?” She tsks, shaking her head. “You think that would be a fair trade? Uh-uh.”

Castiel glares at her.

“Then what?” he snarls. The demon sighs.

“You see, it’s gonna be a little more difficult to raise your dearly departed angel.” She looks up to meet his eyes, each word crisp and cold.

“Poor, dead, Dean.”

 

Hearing his name feels like a punch to the gut. Castiel clenches his fists, exhaling harshly.

“Five,” he grits out.

She keeps smiling.

“Three,” Castiel mutters. Three years on Earth, three years to—

“Keep going, Ace,” she says, smirking.

“No,” Castiel snarls. “You can’t—I, I need more time—“

“Don’t we all,” the demon says.

 

She brushes her long hair over her shoulder, her face twisting into a sympathetic frown.

“I feel for you, Castiel. I really do.” She glances down, then back up at Castiel. “So…why don’t you let me out of this trap, and we’ll talk?”

Castiel hesistates. She lifts a delicate eyebrow.

“Can’t do much good in here, honey. But I’m sure I could be…persuaded,” she finishes, dragging a finger up the edge of the angel blade.

Castiel doesn’t move for a minute. He fights himself, hands clenching, his thoughts an ugly tangled mess. He just needs, he has to—

He lowers the blade and kneels down, reaching out a hand to break the trap.

“Castiel.”

 

He turns. Charlie is standing behind him, her eyes dark and pained.

Castiel bolts.

“No—“

 

But Charlie is already raising a hand, and the demon is gone with a flick of fingers.

Castiel whips around.

“ _No,”_ he shouts, advancing on her.

“Cas—“

“NO!” he yells again. “She could’ve—she could’ve done something, we could’ve—“

“No, Castiel,” Charlie says sadly. “She couldn’t.”

Castiel raises a fist, his arm jerking up—then immediately draws back, sucking in a short breath.

“You don’t—“ He cuts off, shaking his head. “You don’t know that, you don’t—“

Charlie doesn’t flinch.

“Demons have control over this world, this domain,” she says softly. “Humans and demons and below. Not anything above.”

Castiel just keeps shaking his head.

“No,” he stutters out. He’s stopped yelling, but his hands are shaky, his voice catching in his throat.

“Even I can’t do anything, Cas.”

The grief at those words is evident in every line of Charlie’s face, and Castiel is suddenly struck by how distraught, how tired, how ancient she looks.

“I can’t—“

He grips at the front of his shirt, pulling in short breaths.

“I can’t just give up, I can’t just let him—“

His voice trails away to nothing, an overwhelming feeling of helplessness choking his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie whispers.

 

 

Castiel breaks down.

 

 

 

He sinks to his knees on the dirt of the road, and he finally lets it in. Everything. All the pain he’s been shoving down, pushing away, in the vain hope that there was something, _anything_ they could do. Since that night, when a part of them died.

 

He takes in great gasping breaths, choked by the sobs, unlodged, sticking in his throat, threatening to drag him under. He sees Charlie disappear, then come back to his side, placing a hand on his back. She holds out the crumpled picture, like an offering.

Castiel takes it without a word.

 

“Come on,” Charlie says softly. “Let me take you home.”

 

 

 

x

 

 

Charlie is a good friend. She stays, makes sure he’s alright, keeps him company until she knows Anna and Gabriel are due back.

They don’t speak much, but at least there’s no more yelling.

She leaves him a couple days later. Castiel drowns himself in a bottle of Jack Daniels and falls into bed.

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel wakes slowly, mouth sticking, eyes rimmed with red. The lights are off, and the door’s slightly open.

Anna’s been in to check on him. He groans, burying his face in his pillow.

Fucking hell.

 

 

He doesn’t want to deal with them. Castiel closes his eyes, remaining motionless until he drops off into limbo, or into sleep, whichever takes him first. When he finally opens his eyes again, there’s the clatter of plates and sound of voices echoing down the hall, and his head no longer feels like someone’s trying to drill through it. He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. He drops his eyes, blinking slowly—and then he sees it.

 

The jacket. It’s on the chair next to his bed, folded neatly. He hasn’t touched it since they moved back to the church.

Castiel stares at it for a minute. Then he gets up. The leather is soft, smooth and draping in his hands. He runs his fingers over the creases, the lapels. He’s held those lapels so many times, in anger, to pull him closer—

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. He just breathes for a moment, fighting off the empty, choking feeling in his chest.

He imagines it still smells like him. Like lightning, like blood and warmth.

 

 

 

He stands abruptly, wiping his eyes as he crosses to the closet, pushing back the door to grab a hanger. He zips up the jacket and gently hangs it up, one hand trailing down the leather sleeve. He’s about to close the door back up when something else catches his eye.

 

It’s still there. Castiel pushes the door back farther, a sudden lump in his throat. He pulls it out from the back, staring down at the rough tan material, just looking.

It’s way too warm, but he pulls it on anyway.

 

He heads down the hall, hands tucked into the pockets of the trench coat.

 

 

 

x

 

 

If Anna and Gabriel notice his change of wardrobe, they don’t mention it. Everything quickly, perhaps frighteningly, falls back into their pattern of normal.

 

They all cope in different ways. Anna runs, going farther every day. She can’t control her mind, but she at least can control her body. So she runs, as if she could sweat it out, purge herself of the last traces of Raphael and magic, and finally feel clean again. The burn in her muscles at the end of each day reminds her that she’s alive. They survived this.

Gabriel buries himself in his books. Castiel never sees him without some manuscript in his hands, another scroll, another scrap of ancient lore. Castiel knows he’s researching, reading everything up on angels, everything he can find, but they don’t talk about it.

None of them talk about it.

 

 

Castiel just wanders.

 

He feels lost, aimless. He wanders round the church, barefoot when he can’t sleep, walking the halls at the witching hour of the night. Sometimes he sits before the altar, at the pews. Sometimes he thinks, sometimes he screams at God in his mind. He doesn’t think it can really be called praying.

 

Charlie and Sam had warned them there might be pockets of demons that could come calling—followers of Abaddon that had survived, and maybe were hoping for revenge. Anna doesn’t comment, but she notices any demon who mentions Abaddon’s name always dies—dies very quickly, and always by Castiel’s hand. They run across a couple of them. Most of the movements to get Abaddon back, led by demons operating under the illusion she’s not dead—they flame out eventually, put out by hunters, or destroyed themselves from lack of leadership. There’s one with yellow eyes, a couple months later—gets a little too uppity, and comes dangerously close to finding another way to open the door back to Hell. Anna kills him herself.

Maybe the word gets out, maybe they’re encountering her supporters less and less—but soon they never hear her name at all.

 

As for angels, they don’t see too many—Charlie keeps a tight ship. Most were operating under orders anyway, and didn’t have a personal stake in the fight. They mostly leave the Remingtons alone.

 

Balthazar makes an appearance one day. Had slipped into another vessel to lay low for a while, but eventually decided to come back and seek out Castiel. Said they were due for a long chat. Castiel punched him in the face, called him a lying traitorous bastard, then shoved him out the door.

He comes over sometimes. Castiel will strip away the devil’s trap by the church entrance, and Balthazar will come in for a drink.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Castiel is 27. It's the first birthday without Dean.

 

After he’s sure everyone’s gone to sleep, he grabs a bottle of beer, and heads outside.

He’s not eleven this time, so he’s not afraid of getting stuck up on the roof. He heads towards the back corner of the house, gets a leg up on the old stone statue there, and climbs up the trellis. He crawls over to the edge of the roof, propping his feet in the gutter, and screws off the cap. He takes a long sip, and looks out at the spiderweb of lights before him, the sprawling city below.

 

All of this, it’s still here. Because of them. Because of their stubborn refusal to give into fate. And no one knows.

The apocalypse came and went, with most of the world none the wiser. Castiel keeps expecting to hear something, anything—it had been the central focus of their lives for so long, and now that it’s finally over, the grand story, the whole plan—it feels almost…cheap. Castiel wonders if this is what God would’ve wanted. Somehow, he thinks not.

Gabriel still keeps tabs on it, obviously—but the only thing they heard was one news story, squished on the back page of the paper, about an old building, destroyed by what the police think was arson. There are no suspects.

 

 

Castiel hugs his knees, watching the lights flicker.

Everyone down there is just continuing on their daily lives, and they have no idea. No idea how close they came to disaster.

Before an angel stepped in and sacrificed himself.

A warrior of God built only to be a soldier, who broke all the rules and gave everything, for his father’s most beloved creations.

 

Castiel closes his eyes, combing his fingers through his hair—messily shaking it out, not caring as the wind picks up, whipping his clothes and biting into his skin.

 

The pain had lessened. It did. With time, it receded, and Castiel caught himself smiling, laughing even—slipping back into normalcy. Sometimes there are days when he doesn’t think of him at all. Part of Castiel wants to hold onto the grief, the ache of his loss—because it feels wrong to let go of him so soon.

It’s not fair, really. He didn’t even get a body—nothing to mourn, nothing to cry over—

There was nothing. Just the coat he sometimes wears around like a curse, a shadow he can’t shake.

 

“We never did play by the rules did we?” He asks softly, speaking to no one.

He laughs, one hand toying with the beads of his mother’s rosary.

“Two dead men with empty graves,” he murmurs.

 

 

 

They hadn't even known each other for two years.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Gabriel drifts away from them. It’s inevitable. With his parents gone, he feels like he has nothing tying him down anymore, from something he’s always needed. So he starts to travel. His home is barely his home anymore, more like a house. Castiel can’t remember the last time Gabe spent more than three weeks there. He sends things back to Castiel regularly, stories and scraps of lore he’s picked up from the international crew, but mostly it’s just pictures. Capturing the beauty of the world.

 

 

The world turns. People are born, people die. Time passes, flies by really, and they’re still soldiering on. There are hunts, there are cases and crises. Anna and Castiel fight with blood on their skin and steel in their hands, countless monsters falling at their feet. But with every hunt, every new death at his hands, something in Castiel’s chest tightens further and further. He thought he’d be okay with it, with going back to this life, but now, it’s as if the veneer of goodness, of saving people, it’s been pulled back to expose the ugly truth underneath. After everything they’ve seen, it just feels like violence. And Castiel can’t stand it.

 

So more and more often, when Anna finds a case, he chooses to stay behind. They don’t talk about it, but they both know what it means.

They establish a new normal. Anna still calls the church home, even though more often than not she’s usually away. Castiel is on his own most days, Anna halfway across the country, on another hunt, another lead. Sometimes she goes off solo, but sometimes she joins up with other hunters. Zeke, mostly. Castiel has learned to not expect her most nights, and to instead feel joy when he sees her car parked in the driveway in the morning.

 

Castiel is 31, and he finally does what he said he’d always do. He makes trips to various cities, scattered all over, sussing out all those places their father had, and starts organizing them. Soon the church becomes the largest wealth of supernatural lore in the country. His phone is usually ringing off the hook. It’s annoying. Green young hunters who don’t bother to pick up a book before calling for help. He sasses most of ‘em enough that they stop calling. Only the stubborn ones keep at it. Castiel likes them.

 

And if the occasion does call for it, an easy hunt in the area, a couple of demons coming a knocking—Castiel will take care of it. But usually he decides it’s too far away to be worth the trouble, and sends one of the hunters now on his list of contacts out to take care of it. They always annoyingly enthusiastically agree.

 

 

 

Anna always calls on Mondays. Sam is busy working to get things in Heaven in order, but he manages to come around sometimes. Charlie brings over tea and chess once a month. She says she never cheats, but Castiel never wins either.

Without realizing it, Castiel has turned into an adult. He’s not a young man anymore.

 

The end of the world ages you.

 

 

 

x

 

  

Castiel locks the door behind him, stifling a yawn.

He thought he’d be gone for a few more days—he had told Anna as much— a trip to Carson City, clearing out another cache of Dad’s.

But there turned out to be barely anything of value, so he had tossed most of it, putting the few valuables in the trunk of the Impala, to bring it back to the church for storage, and then he was on his way home. He got back to the church sometime in the early hours of the morning, and had dropped into bed without much of a second thought.

 

The next morning, he’s woken by sunshine streaming in through the window. Casitel squints against the light and sits up, rubbing his eyes.

He gets up and shuffles over to the window, fumbling for the cord to drop the shade. And sees Anna’s dark green Ford, parked neatly outside. Castiel smiles.

 

 

He’s sitting in the kitchen, going through the filing system, logging in the new stuff, and checking the cards against his master list. Probably makes more sense to digitize them, but there’s something about writing everything down by hand.

He hears a shuffle of feet behind him and stops writing, looking up to say hi to Anna.

Except it’s not Anna.

 

 

 

The man freezes when he sees Castiel.

 

 

“Morning,” Castiel says eventually.

“Morning,” Zeke blurts.

 

 

Zeke’s got a guilty expression on his face, his hair sticking up every which way, and dressed in a pair of borrowed sweatpants that Castiel recognizes as his own. Castiel may not be a genius, but he can put two and two together.

Zeke coughs, shifting awkwardly. Castiel taps his pen against the table, then gestures at the seat opposite him.

 

“You gonna just stand there, or do you want some coffee?”

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel is 34, and he watches his sister fall in love.

 

Now finally came the time to tell the truth. Zeke listened, wide-eyed through all of it, as Anna fidgeted with the ends of her sleeves, pulling them over the thin scars on her arms, the ones that no amount of angel grace seems to wash away. Castiel stood silently behind her as she explained with downcast eyes, and at the end of it, Zeke pulled her into his arms.

He heard the story and did not hate them. He did not blame them for condemning the world. Instead, Zeke heard their story, and he thanked them for saving it.

 

 

 

Castiel likes Zeke. He’s brave, he’s strong, and he’s a good hunter. He never fails to speak his mind, voicing his thoughts with a slow and sure conviction, and Castiel finds that his world has grown a little larger.

Zeke’s good for Anna. He tames her wild side, and she brings out his daring. And when they come into the world, their children are sweet, and Castiel loves them with all his heart. They climb in the trees whenever they visit, much like he and Anna had done.

They run in just before dinner, chasing after each other, their fingers stained red, and Castiel can’t help but smile.

 

 

Castiel is 39. He hears them one time, telling them about the angels.

Gabriel is back, from Australia, Austria, Algeria…he can’t remember. It’s Christmas, the church walls decked with the decorations Anna had insisted on, and Castiel creeps out of his room, standing just out of sight as Gabriel weaves beautiful stories about Heaven and its warriors. Castiel wishes he was ten years old again—that he believed such beautiful nonsense.

He rubs his shoulder absently. There's barely anything there anymore, just a faint outline of a mark. He also hasn't felt the anger for years now—that's faded away too, though he's actually glad about that disappearing. He wishes the handprint had not.

 

Everything is a reminder of him, even if Castiel doesn’t want it to be. And even though he enjoys the visits from Sam and Charlie, they’re always edged with discomfort, because they all know it only reminds them of who they had lost.

Dean hovers in their minds, like a ghost.

 

 

 

 

Castiel is 40. He’s alone now, paper, ink, and sigils defining his days.

Gabriel is a fleeting shadow—smiling at him through the occasional photo or phone call, off to yet another foreign country—but Anna never fails to come when her brother needs her, a solid comforting presence in his life.

 

 

And one night, the loneliness is too much.

He gets drunk and breaks, and ends up having sex with a waitress in the back room of a bar. A waitress with green eyes and dirty blonde hair, because something in her smile seemed so familiar that it made Castiel’s heart ache.

 

He hates himself for weeks afterwards, feeling like he's cheated on something.

 

 

 

 

 

Castiel is 45. He's getting slower, and he doesn't want to admit it, but with two children and a family to worry about, his sister isn't there to look after him. He still takes the occasional hunt, and has to pray for help more often then he'd like to admit.

 

 

 

Castiel is 48. He started up the garden earlier this year, and it helps fill his days. It also puts some dirt and good work on surly teenaged hands when they come to visit him. It helps him feel alive.

 

He slings the shovel over his shoulder, wiping his forehead of sweat, and only managing to smear his skin with mud. 

Some of the older spots are sinking into the soft ground, and Castiel had spent the entire morning digging to save the headstones, to preserve the memory of long-forgotten relatives. Half of their family is buried here, people they’d never met, and he feels like it’s his duty. Save at least this part of them.

 

He drops the shovel into the soft dirt, propping it up as he fiddles with the door to the shed. He gets all his tools away and makes it to the church by the time dusk is starting to fall. He locks the door behind him, and coughs, rubbing his chest. His lungs have been giving him trouble again.

He feels a sudden wave of fatigue, and sits down briefly, just to catch his breath.

He’s still sitting there when Anna finds him—sitting in the dark pews in front of the unused altar, his hands clasped and his head bowed.

But he’s not praying. He never prays anymore.

 

She merely slides in next to him, and holds out a beer, smiling faintly.

 

 

He takes the bottle and tips it up, smiling slightly.

“Cheers.”

Anna clinks her own bottle with him, returning the smile.

 

 

Castiel rakes a hand through his hair, where streaks of gray are starting to pepper his temple. He drapes one arm over the back of the pew behind her and takes another sip, bubbles fizzing on his tongue.

Anna rolls the bottle around in her hand, thinking.

 

“Did I ever tell you what Heaven was like?”

 

Castiel stills.

 

“I mean, at least…" She takes a deep breath. "I think that’s where I was.” 

Castiel glances sideways at her. Anna keeps her eyes focused on her bottle, but she’s picking at the label, her fingers are nervously playing with the corner. She cuts her hair shorter nowadays, and it falls loosely over her shoulders, just skimming them.

“When Naomi…you know.”

 

Castiel’s hand tightens on his bottle.

“I was in Heaven,” Anna whispers. “I think. At least for a little while.”

 

Castiel is silent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What was it like?” He asks finally. Anna shrugs.

“It was me and you,” she says simply. “In my memories. When we were kids.”

Anna lifts her head, looking at the cross in front of them.

“And before that, Dad. The summer we went to the pier.”

 

Castiel remembers. It was the first time he had ridden a roller coaster—the swoop of adrenaline in his stomach, the smell of the sea, the cry of the gulls overhead…

“I think it’s…it’s a place where you have every good memory,” Anna continues, her voice soft. “Everything you want to relive. Everything you want to keep alive.”

Castiel feels an ache deep in his heart sharpen, the pain that never quite seemed to go away. He nods and clears his throat, looking down at his shoes. Anna glances over at him, and after a moment, gently lays her head on his shoulder.

 

 

“Thanks, Anna,” Castiel whispers.

 

 

 

They finish the rest of their beers in silence.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Some weeks, or months later—

(Castiel doesn’t know, time seems to blend together these days)

—He asks her what it’s like to die.

 

Anna laughs softly.

“I don’t know,” she says. “You tell me.”

 

 

They both agree it’s painful.

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you all for reading this story and sticking with it until the end, for putting up with my irregular posting schedule and those damn cliffhangers. I cannot tell you how many hours and how much love and effort I poured into the story, and it means a lot to me that you came this far.  
> Thank you. ♥

Castiel sighs, wrapping dirtied knuckles around the familiar metal. A wave of nausea hits him and he almost doubles over, but he beats it back down, pressing a hand against the wood.

 

 

He curses himself, shaking his head. Too much time in the sun, not enough water. Anna’ll have his head if she finds out. And Castiel’s got enough on his plate—he doesn’t need her extra worry on his conscious.

He rolls his shoulders, sighing impatiently. Summer had rolled around, the flowers bursting and wilting in the damp July heat, and it had hit him bad. Castiel clenches his fists and rests his forehead against the church doors, breathing weakly.

 

He finally manages to straighten up, and turns, leaning his back against the door. He casts his eyes back to the garden, the plants and buds now blooming around the crumbling stone.

Reds, yellows, even blues among the green, vastly improving the cold, harsh grey of the graves. He isn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of it before. It had struck Castiel one morning as he read the paper, and he had thought of him. Joshua.

Joshua, who had been gone for almost forty years. When Castiel went out to investigate, the space was still there, where Joshua had tended the roses, spent his days humming and whiling away the hours before coming into to greet Castiel, to ruffle his hair and call him to dinner.

 

So he had rebuilt it. From the ground up. All traces of life were gone—the plants and those beautiful roses—so Castiel had to start from scratch, with the seeds, the soil, everything. He worked hard, threw himself into the project—toiled everyday until it was close, as close as he could make it to the way it had been back then.

Now Castiel focuses on creating life, instead of taking it.

 

 

He pulls again, struggling with the heavy wood, and finally manages to slip inside, entering the cool air of the church. It’s not quite the same these days—the hymnals are gone from their shelves, no pews in front of the altar, all shiny and without dust.

He pauses a moment to look at the silent statues, the nearest one, eyes downcast and wings outspread.

He exhales slowly, then turns away, down towards the kitchen, to where he knows Anna is.

 

 

 

 

It’s his birthday tomorrow, but he doesn’t want it to be.

 

 

 

 

Fifty. A horrible age, if you ask him. He had always dreaded it, in his younger days. The beginning of the end. The halfway point to dying.

But now…?

Castiel sighs.

Now…it doesn’t seem so bad. Because every passing day brings him closer to Heaven.

To where Castiel hopes some version of Dean will be waiting.

 

 

“Think I’ll take a little road trip,” Castiel says casually as he enters the kitchen.

Anna looks up sharply from her crossword.

“Road trip?”

 

Castiel shrugs. He had told Anna that he didn’t want her to make a big deal of his birthday, so of course they all came over, spending the past couple of days with him, staying in the spare rooms of the church, with dark designs of fun and festivities in their eyes.

He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Not far,” he says soothingly. “Just making the rounds.”

Anna squints at him suspiciously, and Castiel struggles desperately not to roll his eyes. He is the older sibling, after all.

But he knows the reason for the wariness in her voice. He knows she still worries about him. Even now, after all these years.

 

Castiel coughs, and moves towards the counter, busying himself with the coffee pot, voice nonchalant.

“Maybe go up north. Drive past Gabriel’s old place,” he says.

 

Anna’s quiet, and Castiel turns, leaning against the counter, waiting as she processes.

He holds himself still until she nods, her shoulders settling.

 

She knows. Of course she knows. Castiel doesn’t have to tell her.

 

“Okay,” she agrees grumpily. “Just be back by six.”

Anna stands, reaching for the coffee herself.

“The kids are planning a surprise party for you,” she warns, glancing up at him. “So you better look surprised.”

Castiel smiles.

“Of course, Red,” he says, winking at her.

She huffs, elbowing him in the side. Castiel smirks and retaliates—messing up her hair until Anna shoves his hand away, scowling.

 

Castiel laughs, grabbing his mug before heading back towards his room.

He’s not sure why, but his stomach is doing is somersaults.

 

 

x

 

 

Later that night, Castiel finds himself standing at the passenger door of the Impala, looking down at the seat.

He breathes in.

This car.

He barely drives it anymore, seeing as it could technically be classified as a fossil at this point— but he feels like this trip warrants him pulling the tarp off and getting the old girl going again.

He turns the keys in the ignition, and feels her familiar growl underneath him. Despite himself, Castiel smiles.

 

 

 

 

The highway is long and dark.

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t know how long he drives, but eventually, he finds the right place, pulling into a quiet suburb at a dark hour, driving through the silent streets. He knows it’s been years, more than twenty years since he had been here last, but—

He pulls the car up, and cuts the engine. For a moment, he just stares.

 

A dark abandoned barn.

 

 

Castiel swallows. He hadn’t expected it to still be standing. In fact, he was certain it wouldn’t be. And now that he’s here, he doesn’t want to go in.

 

Castiel closes his eyes.

_Don’t be a coward._

 

 

He exhales slowly, then reaches towards the passenger’s seat. A strange combination to an outsider’s eyes, to be sure—a six-pack and an old leather jacket. Castiel gathers them up, his hand lingering on the sleeve. It gives softly under his hand, still shiny from the last time he cleaned it. He folds it over his arm, taking comfort in its warm weight as he walks up to the barn. He takes a deep breath, and pushes open the door.

 

It looks the same. Most of the sigils are completely faded, graffiti covering the others, no doubt splashed up there by some local kids. The table is still there, of all things. And there, the marks left by his knife, Jesus, even the pieces of his gun. Castiel reaches out and touches the rusted metal. He lets out a broken laugh, dipping his head. It seems like a lifetime ago.

 

He sits down on one of the larger crates, pushing aside some of the wood scraps scattering the floor with his foot. He swallows, staring down at the jacket in his hands.

Then, silently, he slips his hands through the sleeves, and pulls it on.

 

Castiel takes a beer from the six-pack and cracks it open. The bottle cap hits the floor and clatters away from him, bouncing through the strips of moonlight, before finally settling somewhere in the darkness.

He takes a sip, the bubbles fizzing and popping on his tongue.

 

 

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

 

 

The name is rusty in his mouth. Unused.

 

 

 

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” he says quietly. “Fifty. Can you believe it?”

He rubs a hand over his face, trying to laugh.

“Never thought I’d make it this far.”

His voice echoes back to him through the air, hollow and empty.

He suddenly feels small.

 

Castiel pinches his nose, breathing deep.

This is stupid.

 

He starts to stand, but he catches sight of the leather drooping over his palms, and he stops.

He curls his fingers around the edge of the sleeve, closing his eyes.

 

 

“We didn’t really have a birthday together, did we?”

 

Castiel swallows, fighting against the tightness in his throat.

“Kinda more concerned about stopping the apocalypse.”

He gives a brief laugh.

“God. Remember when that was a problem?”

 

 

His eyes drop to his hands, and he sobers, his words lost. So he takes another sip, swilling the liquid around his mouth.

“But you know me,” Castiel says finally. “Not really one for parties.”

He fingers the bottle in his hands.

“I’ll let the kids celebrate for me.”

He looks down, his eyes burning.

“They want to, so.”

 

 

 

He picks at his fingers.

 

 

 

“Gabriel moved to India.”

 

 

Castiel thinks it over, then snorts.

“Well—not moved. But he’s been there for four months already, and, well, between you and me…”

He laughs quietly.

“Pretty sure he’s not coming back,” he murmurs. “Met someone too. I think he’s gonna stay with her.”

He shakes his head, closing his eyes.

“Anna refuses to accept it though,” he mutters. “You know what she’s like. She keeps saying that he’ll be back.”

He bites his lip.

“So. There’s that.”

 

Castiel quietly sets down the bottle, clasping his hands.

 

 

“Sam misses you,” he murmurs, after a moment. “He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell.”

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I miss you, too.”

 

Castiel chokes back a breath.

“I—I miss you so much, Dean.”

He clutches at his collar, vision blurring with tears.

“I miss fighting with you, I miss waking up to you, I miss talking about stupid shit that didn’t even matter, god, Dean—“

Castiel cuts off, burying his face in his hands.

 

 

“I miss you,” he whispers. “I—I just miss _you._ ”

 

He’s still for a moment, just breathing. Then he opens his eyes, looking Heavenward.

“And I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. For everything.”

He shudders out a breath.

“I never really got to tell you, I never had the chance to—“

He breaks off, rubbing his eyes.

“Just—“

He inhales, breathing in the cool air.

“Please forgive me,” he whispers. “I just hope you can forgive me.”

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Castiel drives back to the church, just as the sun peeks over the horizon. He had stayed through the night, occasionally offering up words to Dean, whenever he thought of something to say—but now he’s on his way back, patting his cheek to fight off the tiredness threatening to claim him.

He feels exhausted, emotionally drained—but strangely, better for it, like the last remnants of poison have been sucked from a wound, and now he’s ready to move on.

 

 

He pulls the Impala into the side garage, pulling up the collar of Dean’s jacket against the early morning chill. He’s tired, and he knows he should get some rest before the inevitable birthday celebrations, but he’s loathe to leave the Impala so soon. He gets out the old toolkit from the trunk and spends nearly an hour checking her over, but of course, she’s perfect. Castiel smiles and closes up the hood, patting it fondly. He’s pretty sure this car will outlive even him.

He’s just putting away his tools when he hears an earsplitting screech—the sound of tires on the main driveway. He stiffens.

 

 

He holds his breath, listening hard. But he hears nothing else.

 

 

Castiel quickly pulls his gun from his back pocket. He barely has occasion for confrontation anymore, but old habits die hard. He moves slowly, out of the side garage and creeps towards the main driveway—and stops.

A car, haphazardly parked, like the driver had pulled in in a great hurry. The door is hanging open, and the engine’s still running.

 

Castiel approaches cautiously, then reaches through the open door, turning the keys and shutting the engine off. He listens.

Everything is quiet. Only the soft sounds of morning, and Castiel’s quiet breathing. He tightens the grip on his gun.

 

He doesn’t recognize the car. It’s not Zeke’s, not Anna’s, not any hunter’s, he’s sure of it. The sight of it sends something crawling under his skin, a foreboding sense of _wrong._ He backs away quickly, raising his gun again.

He abandons the car and moves silently towards the side path, his heart thudding against his ribs, blood pounding in his ears—but he is not afraid. He’s strangely calm, even as his body tenses up for the fight.

 

Castiel takes a deep breath, and rounds the corner.

He halts abruptly.

 

Someone’s standing at the side door, frozen on the step.

 

 

 

Castiel lowers his gun slightly. Not demon then. There’s a trap under the mat the guy’s standing on. Old, but it should still be good.

He still keeps his finger on the trigger.

 

 

 

 

He takes a couple cautious steps forward, clearing his throat.

 

“Excuse me,” he calls out. “Can I help you?”

 

 

 

 

The man doesn’t move at the sound of Castiel’s voice. Castiel narrows his eyes, giving him the once over. The man looks…frazzled, to say the least. Castiel can’t see his face, not with his back turned to him, but his clothes are rumpled, messy, and his hands are shaking.

Castiel tightens his jaw, debating silently with himself. After a brief hesitation, he tucks his gun back in his pocket.

 

“Hey,” he says, a little gentler this time.

 

He takes a step forward, raising his hands.

“You alright?”

 

 

 

 

The man turns.

Castiel freezes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I—“

 

The stranger swallows, twisting his hands nervously.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. “I—I didn’t mean to—to trespass.”

 

 

Castie stares in shock.

No. That’s not possible.

 

 

 

“To be honest—”

 

The man hesitates, then lets out an anxious burst of a laugh.

“I don’t—I don’t really know where I am.”

His eyes dart nervously up at Castiel’s face, then back towards the church. Green eyes.

“I just knew that I had to come here,” he says quickly. “I had to.”

 

 

Castiel can’t move.

It’s not possible. It’s a trick. It has to be.

 

 

The face in front of him is young, younger than Castiel had known him—his hair all sticking up and wild, his skin without a wrinkle, no worry lines on his forehead.

It’s him, it’s _him_ —but oh god, how can it be him—

 

 

 

“Look.”

 

 

The man takes a step forward, halting, tripping over his words.

“You’re…you’re going to think I’m crazy.”

 

 

Castiel stares at him, as in a daze. They’re both crazy at this point.

 

“I…I _heard_ something,” the man continues, hushed, like a confession. “I was in bed, I was almost asleep—but then…I heard it. In my head, clear as a bell.”

He pauses, looking up.

“And I didn’t even hesitate,” he whispers. “I—I just got in my car and started driving, I didn’t tell anyone, I just—“

He stops to breathe, pressing a hand to his forehead.

 

 

Castiel can’t tear his eyes away. He feels his hands trembling, and he’s hardly daring to believe it, his heart snarled in a confused hope.

 

 

 

“Dean?” He whispers.

 

 

 

 

The man’s eyes widen—the strangest look flashing through them—almost like recognition—

But then it’s gone, and he’s shaking his head, backing away slightly.

“N-no. No.”

He laughs weakly.

“That’s—I don’t know what to tell you, man, but that’s not me.”

 

Castiel feels himself moving forward, but he can’t stop. He just keeps going, something dragging him closer, like a magnet, an unstoppable force, a hurricane.

“Dean,” he breathes again. He doesn’t care if its impossible, he doesn’t care if its insanity, he just—

 

 

“I—“

Castiel stills.

 

 

The man’s face has gone blank, his eyes lost in shadow.

“That’s my name, isn’t it?” He whispers.

 

Neither of them moves. They just stand, staring, frozen beside the church—and it’s been forever, or perhaps just a few seconds—agonizing, dragging seconds—

And then he’s moving forward, closer to Castiel, closer, until he’s just a breath away.

 

 

He reaches out, and with the lightest of touches, brushes Castiel’s cheek.

 

 

 

“Cas,” he whispers.

 

 

 

 

Castiel inhales sharply.

 

The man doesn’t move away. His fingers trace over Castiel’s jaw, gentle as the brush of feathers.

“Castiel,” he says, softer this time.

 

 

Then it’s as if he’s remembered himself, and he pulls his hand back, looking shaken.

“How did I know that?” He murmurs, looking down at his palm.

 

Castiel doesn’t dare speak. The man slowly curls his hand into a fist, then looks up, his eyes locking on to Castiel’s.

 

He collapses.

 

 

 

 

Castiel bolts for him, calling his name.

“Dean! Dean—“

 

He’s fallen to his knees, holding his head in his hands. Castiel drops, getting a hand on his shoulder.

“Dean—“

As soon as he touches him—a strange wave of power sings through the air, rattling through Castiel and setting his teeth on edge—and then, just as swiftly—it’s gone.

Castiel breathes hard, kneeling in front of him. He’s shaking, eyes squeezed shut.

And Castiel doesn’t know if he should, but he lifts a hand, touching his cheek. The man raises his head, and in that moment, all of Castiel’s doubts fade away, the not-so-strange stranger in front of him melting into the touch, feeling like home.

 

 

“Cas,” he whispers. “ _Cas_.”

 

 

 

 

He grabs Castiel’s collar and pulls him in, and Castiel can’t help the wounded, agonized sound he makes as the man takes his face in his hands, rushing out words.

“I remember,” he breathes. “I remember you—“

He shakes his head and presses their foreheads together, unable to say anything else. Castiel’s hands move unbidden, on instinct, to curl around his wrists, the delicate thrum of his pulse underneath his hand jumping, pounding in time with his own heart.

_Is it possible?_

 

“Dean,” he whispers. “Is it—“

He tightens his grip, like any second he might disappear, melt into mist and dissolve in his arms.

“Is it really you?” Castiel breathes.

 

He pulls back slightly, nodding, his voice unsteady, but sure.

“It’s me,” he whispers.

 

Those two words stab into Castiel, his deepest, most foolish hope twisting inside him, edging on painful. He’s dreamed this, a thousand times, how does he know this isn’t just another dream—

“And you.”

He presses in closer, his hands gently cradling Castiel’s face.

“Castiel,” he says again, hesitant. “Castiel Remington. I…”

He looks up.

 

“I _know_ you.”

 

 

 

 

And he kisses him.

 

 

 

 

Dean’s lips press against his, Dean’s hands are on his face, warm and electric, and for a moment, Castiel is frozen, stiff with shock.

Dean senses his reaction and immediately pulls back, his eyes going wide.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, trying to move back. “I—“

“Don’t—“

Castiel grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulling him back. He’s not leaving him, not again—

He’s the one that initiates the kiss this time, hard, desperate, but so achingly familiar—and then finally, _finally_ —Dean’s arms come to wrap around him and he’s real, he’s real and warm and whole in Castiel’s arms, and Castiel is crying, whispering prayers against Dean’s lips, praying that he doesn't wake up.

Dean gets a hand on his cheek, breaking the kiss, one arm still wrapped tight around him.  
“You came back,” Castiel whispers, almost dizzy with disbelief. “You came back to me.”

 

 

“Not soon enough,” Dean whispers, green eyes watery and pained. “I—“

“Dean—“

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Dean says, his voice aching. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case I—“

Castiel takes his hands, pressing them close to his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his throat choked. “Dean, it’s okay.”

Dean takes a deep breath.

 

“I ripped it out.”

 

 

 

 

Castiel goes still.

“What?” He whispers.

 

Dean dips his head, the confession tumbling past his lips.

“My grace,” he whispers. “I ripped it out.”

 

Castiel stares at him, awestruck. Stupid, reckless, _wonderful_ Dean—

 

“And I fell,” Dean is saying, one hand fisted in his shirt, as if remembering the pain of the phantom wound. “I fell, and it hurt—god, it hurt so bad—“

He wipes his eyes in frustration, his hand trembling.

“And I forgot,” he mutters. “I forgot _everything_.”

 

Dean looks up.

“I forgot you.”

 

 

Castiel presses a hand to Dean’s lips, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “You’re here now.”

 

 

He cups his cheek, slowly wiping Dean’s tears away. Dean is quiet, and when Castiel looks up, Dean is staring at Castiel, that beautiful, intense way he always used to watch him—eyes roaming all over Castiel’s face.

“Look at you,” he whispers.

Castiel flushes, quickly looking away.

“I’m old,” he mutters bitterly.

 

Dean catches his chin, forcing Castiel to meet his eyes.

“You think I give a damn about that?” He asks shakily. His other hand comes up to caress Castiel’s face, touching him everywhere, like he’s trying to call back distant memories, cataloguing every scar, every hair, every breath and thought.

 

“It’s you, Cas,” he whispers. “It’s always been you.”

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

Castiel doesn’t know how long they sit there, just holding each other, exchanging little touches, Dean’s arms around his neck, his lips on his, his warm, _human_ body pressed up against Castiel’s own.

Dean curls a hand around Castiel’s cheek, whispers something low, and Castiel laughs, dipping his head. Dean buries his face into Castiel's neck as Castiel fumbles for his phone. He quickly dials the number, pressing it to his ear.

Dean refuses to let go of his hand.

 

 

 

 

“Anna?” Castiel starts, once she picks up. “Can you—can you come outside, please?”

 

She picks up on the tone in his voice immediately.

 _“Why?”_ Comes her sharp reply. _“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”_

Castiel lets out a short laugh, shaking his head.

 

 

 

“You are not going to believe this.”

 

 

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

 

They searched for a while. Turns out Dean’s grace had touched down somewhere in Kansas, in a gnarled old oak tree, and seeing him get it back was an unbelievable sight, one Castiel knows will stay with him for the rest of his life.

Telling Dean’s parents was the next step, and they took it surprisingly well, seeing as their son came to them and said he was a centuries old angel who had ripped out his grace to save the world and finally heard Castiel’s prayers and found him at a church and—

Well. Castiel’s surprised they didn’t break down right then and there.

They visit sometimes, but of course Dean doesn’t age, so they’re the ones who die first. They weren’t technically his parents, but Dean cried anyway, and Castiel held him.

 

 

They continue to live in the church, visiting with Anna, and the children, playing with them in the park, even though Castiel has a bad hip that he refuses to let Dean heal.

 

And he never really gets over people calling Dean his son, and eventually, as the years pass, his grandson. It hurts, but when Dean curls up with him at night, telling him he loves tugging at the now pearl-grey strands, tells him he loves the reading glasses that Castiel’s had to wear for the past five years, and that he loves tracing the new lines in his skin with his fingers…it doesn’t seem so bad. Dean wraps around him, and he laughs, he sings, he talks, telling him that when they’re together, when they fight, when they love, watch movies, read silently next to each other, he doesn’t see his age.

He just sees his soul.

 

 

 

 

 

And that’s where they’ll stay. They’ll stay in the church until Castiel’s final days, and when he finally goes—soft and easy in his sleep, Dean holding his hand—everyone will gather in the cemetery, one final time.

 

Dean will stay just long enough to attend the funeral, but then he’ll be gone, the flutter of his wings echoing around them, one last time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He has to meet someone up in Heaven.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
